


The Musketeers: Revelations

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Mention of Decapitations chap. 21, Physical abuse chap. 13/attempted non-con chap. 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 40,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I blame the new BBC series on this. I have loved everything d'Artagnan since I first read a Dumas novel.<br/>This is my first time writing in this genre so If anyone leaves comments be kind. I usually write in the Stargate SG-1 genre and have for many years.<br/>This is my take on what would have happened if Alexandre d'Artagnan kept a long held secret from his son.<br/>Disclaimer for all chapters: BBC owns the series. I have nothing to do with it. Nor make any money from my stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So It Begins....

Disclaimer: I can’t thank Alexandre Dumas enough for the story of The Three Musketeers. He alone owns the characters and I make no claims on anything to do with the new BBC series. Nor do I make any money from my stories.  
All mistakes are mine alone with some facts taken and used from the original novel.

++++

*The year 1625 - On the d’Artagnan family farm*

Eighteen year old d’Artagnan kept sneaking suspicious glances at his father who had been acting out of character lately. “What is troubling you, father?”

After pitching the last bail of hay into the barn, Alexandre d’Artagnan reached for a rag to wipe his sweaty brow. Sitting on a bail of hay, he stared hard and long at the boy. He knew this day would come but how to explain it to the youngster was tricky. The truth would be revealed soon enough once d’Artagnan’s journey ended. “You have always expressed a desire to become a Musketeer in the king’s service, my son, is that not so?”

“Of course it has,” d’Artagnan gave his father a strange look. “That’s why you’ve been putting in extra hours with my training.”

“Well, let us hope you give a good account of yourself to my old friend Monsieur de Troisville.”

Momentarily forgetting that was the name of his father’s former neighbor and friend, d’Artagnan scrunched his face up in concentration and then snapped his fingers. “Oh, you mean Captain Treville.”

Laughing fondly, the elder d’Artagnan threw an affectionate arm across his son’s shoulder. “I sometimes forget that he changed his last name after establishing himself in Paris.”

“But what is this you mean about giving a good account of myself?”

“I’ve received a letter from him about a week ago,” realizing there were no questions issuing forth from his son’s lips, he carried on. “Treville is sending a personal escort to see you get to the garrison without mishap.”

This had d’Artagnan straightening up his shoulders feeling insulted. A frown marred his handsome, young features. “Babysitters!” he spat in disgust.

“Uh,” feeling embarrassed at what he had to admit, the older man held out his hands. “We have kept up a regular correspondence,” Alexandre shrugged. The captain wanted to know of your progress.”

“Because?”

“Treville’s known since you were little more than a boy brandishing about a toy sword what your greatest desire was,” Alexandre’s eyes twinkled. “My tales of your skill with a sword have impressed him and he feels it is time for you to begin your apprenticeship in the company of the Guards of Monsieur Des Essarts, who is the captain’s brother-in-law.”

“All right,” d’Artagnan nodded his head in understanding but held up a finger. “But back to those *babysitters*.”

“Ah! Yes,” Alexandre mumbled beneath his breath. “I may have embellished a little on your penchant for finding trouble or” he sighed deeply, “creating it.”

“Father!” d’Artagnan was taken aback by this admission. “Really?”

“So that is why you will have an escort consisting of his best musketeers.”

“I bet they were thrilled to death with that detail,” d’Artagnan said sourly.

“Even if they weren't they wouldn’t dare voice a complaint to their captain.”

“So when do I leave then?”

“The men should be here in a few days time.”

“Guess I should start packing.”

Both men then left the barn to get cleaned up for dinner.

++++

*Next day, late afternoon*

“Since when do we play escort to a farm boy?” Porthos was irritated. He would have rather been on parade.

“The timing could have been better,” Aramis grumbled.

“I can see it now,” Porthos snorted, “you tellin’ the captain you couldn’t go cause you’re breaking in a new mistress.”

“Gentlemen,” Athos interrupted with a tone that told his friends that he considered them the opposite of his address. “We do not question Captain Treville’s motives. We follow orders.”

Porthos grunted, while Aramis rolled his eyes.

“Are we there yet?” Porthos grinned as this time it was Athos who rolled his eyes.

“A few hours more I should say.” Athos glanced at his two comrades. “I will admit to curiosity over this young Gascon we are to bring back with us.”

“Knowing their hot heads I’m sure this boy,” Aramis searched his brain for the lad’s name, “d’Artagnan, will chafe at the bit for not being allowed to travel on his own.”

“From the little Treville divulged to me I gathered that this youngster lands himself in hot water from time to time.” Athos wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.

“That explains it then,” Porthos chuckled. “He’ll fit right in with us misfits.”

Shaking his head fondly at his friend, Athos gave him a slight smile.

++++

*Back on the farm*

“I see three riders in the distance,” d’Artagnan called out to his parents who were inside the house.

The boy’s mother had gathered his things and rushed out. She clung to him as she kissed him goodbye, pushing into his hands a huge parcel which contained food and her special salve. “Take care of yourself and write often.”

“I will, mother.” Giving her an affectionate kiss in return, d’Artagnan then turned toward his father. Holding out his hand, he waited for the older man to reciprocate. Instead, the young man was taken by surprise when he was pulled into a crushing bear hug. “I do need to breathe, father.”

Choking back tears, Alexandre patted his son on the back then turned and faced the musketeer escort.

++++

“Guess they were sayin’ their goodbyes by the look of it,” Porthos remarked casually.

“Yes, I suppose they were,” Athos agreed.

“Nice looking youngster,” Aramis offered with a grin, which earned him surprised looks from his friends. “You both know I do not swing in that direction. Just making an observation,” he waved a hand airily. “I may have competition with the ladies.”

Porthos gave a great bark of laughter which caused d’Artagnan and his parents to stare at him oddly.

Sweeping his hat from his head in a grand gesture, Aramis smiled at the family. “My friend found one of my remarks rather witty.” Dismounting, he introduced himself. “I am known as Aramis.”

“I’m Porthos by the way.” The dark skinned man watched as the young Gascon sized each of them up in turn.

Observing the silent boy, Athos was the last to introduce himself. “I am Athos, and as you have realized by now we are d’Artagnan’s escort.”

“I’ll be up front with you gentlemen,” d’Artagnan spoke up in a clear voice. “I could have made the journey entirely on my own had I’d known about it before hand,” he gave his father an irritated glance, “and saved all of you this lengthy trip.”

“Our captain thinks this a matter of grave import or he would not have made it an order.” Athos was impressed at the younger man’s words. Then again, it could be just youthful boasting on the boy’s part.

“And above all,” Porthos winked at the lad, “we follow orders.”

“For the most part,” Aramis added with a devilish light shining in his eyes.

Suddenly, all eyes turned as they heard a gasp coming forth from d’Artagnan’s mother.

“I just realized that my manners were lacking. Here I am ready to send off my son and forgot to ask you gentlemen if you would like to refresh yourselves.”

“We thank you, Madame, but we were told to make hast as soon as possible once we met up with your son,” Athos dipped his head in respect to her.

Listening to Athos, d’Artagnan found himself hoping that he could eventually win these three men over and maybe count them as friends in the future.

TBC


	2. On the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: You will see me mention Porthos and his reference to the Court of Miracles. Living in the U.S. I will not see the episode Homecoming until this Sunday. So I am presuming that part of his past belongs there and hence my giving him that background.  
> ++++  
> The boys get to know one another... well as much as they can for now.

*Traveling to the Garrison*

“So,” Porthos broke the uncomfortable silence, “first time being away from home?”

“Pretty much,” d’Artagnan turned in his seat to once more wave goodbye to his parents who seemed to grow smaller as the distance grew between them. He would never admit this to anyone, but he knew how much he’d miss them and their wise council. Bravely he held back his tears, worrying that these soldiers would hold it against him and see it as a sign of weakness.

Riding on either side of the youngster both Porthos and Aramis exchanged worried glances over d’Artagnan’s head.

Athos took the lead, never bothering to show even an interest in the youth... at least for the time being.

“Never really having a home myself I’m not familiar with feeling homesick,” Porthos stared off into space, seeing his own lonely, rough childhood.

“I just left,” d’Artagnan announced slightly annoyed, “how can I be homesick?” Then the remark the dark skinned man just made had the Gascon’s curiosity peaked. “You have no family at all?”

“Raised on the streets,” Porthos smirked. “Ever hear of the Court of Miracles?”

“Can’t say that I have,” d’Artagnan was surprised when Aramis chuckled.

“What’s so funny, you dolt,” Porthos grinned at his friend.

“Poor d’Artagnan’s in for a rude awakening once we get to our destination.”

Huffing in irritation, d’Artagnan glared at them both. “I am not a baby! Is there something not quite right about the place Porthos brought up?”

“The Cour des Miracles is considered the worst slum district in the area,” Aramis explained.

Leaning toward the young man and in a deep stage whisper, Porthos growled in the boy’s ear. “Full of beggars, thieves, prostitutes, and other vermin.”

Thinking his leg was being pulled, d’Artagnan first glanced skeptically at Aramis then at the larger man. “Why the strange name?”

Stopping his horse, Athos waited for the others to catch up but couldn’t help overhearing their conversation. “On any given day you may see cripples from the court turn up later miraculously cured of their afflictions.”

“Only to repeat the performance over and over again the next day,” Aramis added with relish.

“To get money from some poor fools,” d’Artagnan guessed.

“See,” Porthos grinned, “the boy’s sharp!”

“That remains to be seen.” Athos once more took the lead.

“He does not like me,” d’Artagnan commented sadly to the other two opposite him.

“It’s not you, lad,” Porthos punched the youngster lightly in the arm. “It’s because we had to come clear out here to drag you back with us.”

“Not my idea I assure you,” d’Artagnan snapped indignantly and then immediately contrite, apologized. “Please forgive me for that outburst.”

“What outburst?” Porthos put a finger in his ear.

“Yes,” Aramis agreed. “Didn’t hear a thing.” Signaling he was going to join Athos, he rode up beside him. “You know, you could be a little friendlier toward our new companion.”

“Uh huh,” Athos grunted, not bothering to look at him.

“Stoic to the last I see,” Aramis muttered. “Aren’t you curious as to why Captain Treville sent us out here?”

“We know why.”

“Do we?”

“Quit dancing around the floor. Say what you mean, Aramis.”

“There may be more to our young Gascon than meets the eye.”

“Did you happen to fall on your head when we weren’t looking and addle what little brains you have left to claim?”

“You know,” Aramis quirked an eyebrow, “anymore you’re no fun to be around.” Turning his horse he rejoined the men in the rear.

“Company not to your usual standards,” Porthos laughed, knowing full well why Aramis came back.

“He’s being a pain today,” Aramis grumbled, but his eyes sparkled with merriment.

“Did you say he was an ass?” Porthos noticed d’Artagnan’s shocked expression.

“Pain in the ass, yes,” Aramis quipped which made them all break out in laughter except the man in question.

“Care to take the lead, Aramis?” Athos asked him, but his voice brooked any argument his friend would have made in protest.

“Don’t mind if I do,” patting his horse’s mane, Aramis moved ahead while Athos took his friend’s place beside d’Artagnan. 

Knowing he made d’Artagnan nervous, just by witnessing the boy’s Adam’s apple moving up and down, Athos tried not to sound like an inquisitioner. “How would you rate your skill with a sword?” He had his one hand resting on the pommel of his saddle while holding his horse’s reigns loosely in the other, seeming very relaxed.

“Not meaning to sound like I’m boasting, but my father was a volunteer in the wars and an excellent teacher. He said my handling of a rapier was remarkable.”

“Bold words, my friend,” Porthos grinned at the innocent looking farm boy.

“I’ll reserve my own judgement until you’ve proven yourself to me.” Athos heard Porthos’s amused snort and shot him a grim glance. “How are you with pistols?”

“Now that I will admit to needing more practice,” d’Artagnan smiled rather sheepishly. “Father emphasized that blade work seemed of paramount importance.”

Lips twitching, Porthos waited for Athos to erupt in a torrent of verbal abuse which was sure to be heaped upon the boy’s unprotected head.

Instead, Athos amazed his friend by just shaking his head ruefully. “You will find that equal skill will be needed if you are to attain the position of being a king’s Musketeer.”

“And muskets,” Aramis waved a friendly hand in the air, still riding ahead of them, “don’t forget musket practice!”

Sighing, d’Artagnan’s ego felt like it was dealt a severe blow. He jolted in his saddle suddenly when a huge hand slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him from his horse.

“Take heart,” Porthos winked, “there’s still hope for you.”

Athos tightened his lips, afraid to ask. “There is?”

With a sweep of his hand, the large Musketeer indicated himself and his two friends. “There’s us.”

“Explain,” Athos ordered, none too gently either, afraid he knew what the other man hinted at.

“We’ll take d’Artagnan under our wings,” Porthos could tell immediately that his suggestion did not sit well with Athos at all.

“Are you utterly out of your mind?”

“Not today,” Porthos laughed, “who knows about tomorrow though.”

“I may be!” Aramis shouted over his shoulder. “Because I agree with him!”

Not wanting to argue the issue or indicate he was even considering the prospect, Athos remained silent. Which he realized their new recruit would take for an outright refusal to help him.

“There’s a clearing up ahead with a nice big tree to settle under,” Porthos slyly glanced at Athos. “Great spot for sparring I’d say.”

“Wonderful idea, Porthos, shame I didn’t think of it first,” Aramis shouted back again.

Athos shot such a fierce glare at Porthos that d’Artagnan thought it a good thing that the two men were friends or he himself may end up being a witness to their own dual.

“We can bet money on the winner,” Aramis commented, glancing behind him just in time to catch Athos send him a speaking look that made lesser men quake in their boots.

“You and Porthos are broke until next payday,” Athos growled. He made note of the fact that the boy hadn’t uttered a single word during their exchange. Slowing down his horse to a canter, Athos gave in. “All right,” he quickly gazed d’Artagnan’s way and nodded. “I must be out of my mind as well.”

TBC


	3. En Garde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take time out for a little bit of sword play. Who will your money be on?

While Porthos and Aramis lounged under the shade of a huge tree, Athos and d’Artagnan were warming up in the field a little farther out.

Still thinking he had been out of his mind to agree to this, Athos watched the boy as he limbered up his muscles. The child seemed to know what he was about so maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting him. He could visualize it now - their return to the garrison with d’Artagnan hiding an injury from their sparring and having to report to Treville, of all people. It didn’t bear thinking on... and yet here he was.

“Get on with it already!” Porthos shouted impatiently from where he was nestled quite comfortably.

“Yes, what he said,” Aramis agreed, taking a bite out of an apple that d’Artagnan’s mother had packed in the boy’s supplies.

“Keep that up and I will gladly take your place and let you fight him,” Athos growled.

“Naw,” Porthos waved his hand, “you do the honors. Remember, Aramis and I have money riding on the outcome.”

“I wonder how much they wagered,” d’Artagnan murmured, more to himself than to Athos.

“Like I mentioned earlier, neither of them have any money.” Athos stood at the ready while waiting for the youngster to do the same.

“It would be rather funny if one of them bet on me - the newcomer,” d’Artagnan noticed Athos’s scowl and thought better of provoking the older man under the circumstances. “Right,” he mumbled quietly. “Just give the word.” Bowing before his opponent, he swung up his right arm, taking his defensive stance in readiness for Athos’s attack.

Noting the good form the boy had, Athos smiled grimly to himself and wondered if d’Artagnan indeed had what it made to become a Musketeer. Extending his sword arm, Athos gave a mighty thrust toward the younger man and watched in surprise at how easily d’Artagnan parried his move by blocking his weapon easily.

It did not escape the notice of the other two Musketeers how wily d’Artagnan handled himself. They were actually stunned at how well the youngster was doing against the man their captain held in great esteem of being one of the best swordsmen in France.

“Nice footwork. The lad's very light on his feet.” Porthos commented, his gravelly voice held nothing but approval in it.

“Yes, very agile,” Aramis agreed while this time watching as d’Artagnan feinted to the left causing Athos to stumble slightly. “Amazing, the boy’s actually keeping up with him, and he manages his weapon extremely well for his youth.”

“Naw, Athos is just going easy on em’.” Then again, Porthos eyes widened in shock when d’Artagnan lunged at Athos causing a nick in the older man’s jacket. Maybe his friend had indeed finally met his match.

“Good thing we didn’t suggest pistols,” Aramis said, taking another bite from his juicy apple.

“That wouldn’t have been fair to the boy now would it?” Porthos didn’t wait for Aramis to respond. “I mean he admitted to us that he needed more practice with it.”

“You’re right.” Aramis winced as this time it was Athos’s rapier that nicked d’Artagnan’s leather jacket slightly. “Did I pack my sewing equipment?”

“Huh?”

“We can’t present the boy to the captain with a torn jacket.”

“I’ll have to take a look see later.”

“Fine.” Aramis continued to watch the friendly, or maybe not so friendly, battle going on before him and held his breath at the outcome. He could tell that Athos was getting ready to finish this exhibition as fast as humanly possible since it actually looked like his fellow Musketeer was tiring. Both men were breathing hard and sweat poured down their faces.

Standing up, Aramis took matters into his own hands. Dusting himself off he then took a white handkerchief from his vest pocket. Striding up to the two combatants he waved it about. “Gentlemen, why don’t we call it a draw?”

Pausing, d’Artagnan took the sudden interruption to catch his breath. “What about your bet?”

“Like Athos reminded us,” Aramis laughed nonchalantly, “Porthos and I don’t have a sou between us.”

“It’s fine with me,” d’Artagnan glanced at Athos and saw the other man nod his head in agreement. “And if you are in need of funds, my father gave me fifteen ecus.”

Embarrassment filled each man at how this child freely offered his own coin to nearly total strangers and it reflected on all their faces.

Breaking the rather strange atmosphere the boy had created, Athos tapped his rapier against d’Artagnan’s. “Well met. You're a credit to your father."

“Thank you. It would make my father proud to have heard your words.”

Athos had the grace to blush at the boy’s remark. Then taking stock in what shape their clothing was in winced. “How do I explain this to the captain?”

“No worries,” Porthos called out, holding Aramis’s sewing kit in his hand that he retrieved from a saddlebag. “Remember, Aramis does damn fine needlework!”

Seeing the amazement on the youngster’s face, made Aramis chuckle. “We have to learn all manner of trades in our craft.” Clapping a friendly hand on the boy’s shoulder, he shook it gently. “As will you.”

“That’s if I qualify to be a Musketeer after serving in the Guard,” d’Artagnan responded glumly.

“You doubt it,” Athos scoffed, “after that performance... against me?” his voice was incredulous. Athos would be the last one to boast about his own prowess with the blade and this Gascon had nearly beaten him to his knees, though he would never admit that to d’Artagnan’s face.

“I do not know what to expect and will freely admit to being afraid of what I will be facing.”

“It does you great credit that you trust us enough to say that,” Aramis said. He was already getting attached to their young charge. Too soon perhaps, but he had a feeling about such things. And something told him this boy would be someone to reckon with somewhere down the road. Aramis could tell that Athos thought the same as well. When he glanced at Porthos he already detected pride and my God! They weren’t even at the garrison yet. Aramis wondered what the future held in store for all of them.

*Garrison - Captain Treville’s office*

Counting the days until d’Artagnan’s arrival, Captain Treville paced back and forth fretfully. Wondering what he would say to the boy. Alexandre’s letters to him had been full of d’Artagnan’s accomplishments, both good and bad. The old friends had agreed a long time ago that when d’Artagnan reached the age of his eighteenth birthday that it would be time for him to earn his place as a Musketeer. Something that Alexandre boasted was the boy’s only goal in life. Fortunately it was what he had wished as well.

Still, he pondered about the secret that had been kept well hidden from the youngster until now and wondered at its reception. Would d’Artagnan end up hating them all or would he take it in stride. Knowing that nothing could come of worrying himself to death until he faced the boy, Treville had other matters of grave importance that needed his attention.

TBC


	4. Secrets Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally reaching the garrison d'Artagnan meets with the captain.

*Nearing the Garrison*

Sweaty palms, palpating heartbeat, dry mouth... all of these assailed d'Artagnan the closer they traveled toward the garrison and his forthcoming interview with the captain. Aside from that burning concern one other important matter had been on his mind ever since his sparring practice with Athos, so he voiced it out loud. “I know Porthos joked about taking me under your wings, but do you feel that Captain Treville will allow it?” Seeing three astonished faces staring back at him d'Artagnan blushed, embarrassed that he had the nerve to ever ask the question in the first place.

“The captain is a fair man, and I do not see why he would be against us formally training you,” Athos glanced at his other two friends for confirmation.

“Aye, and informally training you on the sneakier aspects of fighting,” Porthos added with a wink.

Leaning over his horse, Aramis slapped Porthos's leg to reprimand him. “You don't want to learn what this man knows, d’Artagnan.”

“Why not?” D'Artagnan heard the giant of a man give a bark of laughter at the other man’s remark.

“He is the dirtiest fighter I have ever met,” Aramis's grinned, “and he doesn’t just pick it up rolling around on the ground,” he winked at the boy. “If you get my meaning.”

“Gentlemen,” Athos interrupted, “we've gotten rather off topic.” The Musketeer seemed deep in thought and wore a pensive look, making him appear older than his years. “Treville will listen to us, d'Artagnan. Do not worry so.”

“We're his most trusted soldiers,” Porthos bellowed, making the others jerk on the reigns of their horses, which in turn made the animals slightly skittish.

“Shoosh, shoosh,” d’Artagnan tried to calm his own horse, shooting Porthos an admonishing look.

“Do talk more softly,” Aramis rebuked him. “You'll give me a headache before we get home.”

“Well pardon me,” Porthos retorted sarcastically. “Wouldn't want to damage your dainty ears.”

“Athos,” d'Artagnan whispered, getting the other Musketeer's attention. “Assuming those two really like one another,” he paused for a second thinking how he should phrase it, “are they always that way?”

“Unfortunately yes,” he answered dryly, but Athos wore an amused look. “You will get used to us in time.”

It relieved d’Artagnan’s mind somewhat at Athos’s reply. Meaning that the Musketeer expected him to be around for awhile. He took that as a good sign for the future.

“I do believe we've arrived at our destination.” Aramis watched d'Artagnan's hands tighten on the reigns of his horse making his mount nervous. Placing a gentle hand on top of the boy's he smiled in sympathy. “Don't strangle your horse in your excitement... or fear.”

Realizing what he was doing, d'Artagnan winced. “Don't know what I was thinking. Father would have given me a thrashing for treating my horse in that manner.”

“It’s natural to be afraid of the unknown,” Porthos grinned. “You admitted as much to us earlier.”

“Says the man who never had a fearful moment in his life,” Aramis quipped.

“Thank you, gentlemen, for trying to put me at ease.” D'Artagnan realized how very lucky he had been when Captain Treville charged these particular men to see to his safety.

As they entered through the gates, the three musketeers were greeted by fellow soldiers on their way to the captain's office.

Seeing how popular they were made d'Artagnan all the more determined to make sure they became his teachers in all things and above all else wanted to earn their friendship and respect.

Slowing their horses down they stopped in front of a large structure.

Pointing at the building, Athos glanced back at the boy. “This is Captain Treville's headquarters and where we leave you for now.” Holding out his hand, d'Artagnan took it. “Good luck.”

“My thanks,” d'Artagnan's gaze locked with his. In turn then he shook the other Musketeer's hands as well. Dismounting, d'Artagnan tied his horse to a post and took the lonely walk up the stairs.

++++

*Inside Treville's Office*

Hearing the knock upon his door, Treville instantly stopped writing a report he had been working on for the past hour. “Enter!” he barked.

The booming voice alone scared d'Artagnan into nearly turning around and running away. And here he thought his father's gruff tone could be harsh at times. Still, he steeled himself and followed the authorative command and stepped inside the lion's den.

The very young, nervous looking lad that walked inside reminded the captain so very much of himself at that age that it was nearly too painful to watch the boy's approach. “Yes?” State your business,” he demanded as if he didn't know who d'Artagnan was. 

“Pardon my intrusion, Captain Treville, but my name is Charles d'Artagnan at your service.” D’Artagnan bowed slightly before the officer, peeking up at him through a few strands of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “I believe you have been expecting me.”

Not giving the appearance of an over anxious man who had waited for this moment, Captain Treville's voice was cool. “Ah, yes!” He got up from behind his desk to welcome the boy. “The young Gascon has finally arrived. This is a day your father and I have looked forward too,” he clapped d'Artagnan on the back lightly.

“Well,” d'Artagnan couldn't help but admit rather wryly, “it certainly came as a surprise to me, sir.”

“That's the way I wanted it to be, d'Artagnan.”

“May I be allowed to ask why that was?” d’Artagnan countered with just a hint of belligerence in his voice. It still grated that his father had not informed him of the plans that had been made for him without his knowledge.

“Sit down first. Rest. I know you've had a long journey here.”

“It was rather educational as well.”

“Considering whom I sent to guard you I'm not in the least surprised,” Treville grinned. “What did you think of them?”

“That I would be honored if in-between duties in the service of the guards that those three would be allowed to train me in all things Musketeer.”

Once more seated himself, Treville rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It has already been discussed then?”

“It has,” d'Artagnan smiled shyly.

“I will talk with them later,” Treville said casually. “If they are of one accord my permission will be granted.” He studied the face before him and remembered why he had sent for the boy in the first place. His own youthful indiscretion coming back to haunt his memories, Treville steepled his fingers together closing his eyes briefly. “There was another matter that made me ask for your presence, d’Artagnan.”

“I thought perhaps there was considering how well my father kept such a guarded secret of your communications.”

“What I am about to tell you no one else knows other than myself, my good friends the d’Artagnans and,” Treville hesitated only slightly, “your birth mother.”

That last addition caught d’Artagnan’s attention as nothing else ever had, leaving him confused. “I don’t understand.”

“As you know, your father and I were close neighbors and friends back in Gascony. I always dreamed of bettering myself,” Treville sighed. “A farmer’s life wasn’t for me.” Seeing the youthful outrage begin to grow on the boy’s face had him holding out a hand to calm d’Artagnan’s ire. “There is nothing wrong with being a farmer. It just wasn’t what I had envisioned for myself.” He stood up and walked around his desk, sitting on the edge of it.

“Before I left our village to go to Paris I met a woman and we had a brief affair,” Treville pinned the youngster with a concerned look and worried how his next words would affect him. “It bore fruit.”

Having lived and labored on a farm, procreation wasn’t a new concept to him. And never let it be said that d’Artagnan wasn’t quick on the uptake. He realized what the captain insinuated and was shocked to the core. “You’re telling me that the two people who have raised me my entire life are not my parents?”

“Your father was married by that time to the sweetest and most generous woman I have ever known. I swore them to secrecy after they agreed to raise you as their own child.”

“What of my true mother?”

Treville’s eyes deepened with sadness, and he couldn’t quite meet d’Artagnan’s own. “Alas, Aurelie died giving birth to you.”

“Aurelie?”

“Yes, Aurelie Bontecou,” Treville replied softly. “She lived in the next town over from me. My parents and hers were outraged at our actions. Though your mother’s parents were devastated at the loss of their only daughter they wanted nothing to do with her baby boy and neither did mine.”

“So my own parents,” d’Artagnan struggled on the last word, “stepped in to get you out of the fix you created.”

Feeling d’Artagnan’s heated gaze envelope him, Treville actually felt about two inches high. “I do not know what I would have done if your parents hadn’t been the caring people they were and still are. I was constantly in touch with them through the years on how you fared. I sent them money whenever I could to support you even though it went against the grain for Alexandre.”

“Father was always very prideful, and I can see him wanting to refuse the money.” A small smile graced d’Artagnan’s young face in fond remembrance. Standing up he approached the captain uncertainly. He had a lot to process. “How would you wish me to address you in future?”

“For now, in public, consider me just your captain,” Treville’s eyes were kind as were his next words. “But in private, if you feel so inclined, *father* would be more than acceptable.”

“What of my telling Athos, Porthos and Aramis?”

“Not yet. It wouldn’t be wise at this juncture for too many people to know of our relation to each other.”

“In other words, you’re afraid someone will use me against you.”

“Intelligent as well as talented with a sword, I admire that. Alexandre said you were, and I had no reason to doubt him.” Treville smiled as he handed the boy a small pouch.

“There’s enough there to set you up in your own apartment,” seeing d’Artagnan ready to put up an argument, Treville held up his hand. “Yes, I know Alexandre must have given you some money, but knowing the going rates around here it won’t be enough to find decent accommodations. You will report to the Guards first thing tomorrow morning where your training will commence.”

“What about my new friends?”

“I’ll discuss private tutelage with them soon.” Glancing back at the pile of papers that seemed to have magically accumulated on his desk, Treville grimaced. “Why don’t you have Athos help you acquire proper lodgings and once you’re settled there will be plenty of time for us to get acquainted.”

“Yes, sir,” d’Artagnan wasn’t sure if the time was right to call the man *father*; it did not sit well on his tongue yet. As soon as he could possibly make the time his other *parents* were going to get a very long letter from him. 

Turning around slowly, d’Artagnan walked to the door more or less still in a daze from Treville’s revelations. As he trudged back down the steps he was surprised to see Athos waiting for him near the bottom. He was pleased that he wouldn’t have to seek him out.

“Well?” the older man questioned with a quirk of one eyebrow. Athos didn’t want to admit to his other friends that he was worried about the boy’s reception from their captain. Seeing the disturbed expression on d’Artagnan’s face though was unsettling, making him wonder what had put it there. But once the youngster reached the bottom step his features were relaxed. Maybe Athos read more into d’Artagnan’s look than there was.

Dangling the pouch between his fingers, d’Artagnan grinned. “Seems that I can afford somewhere nice to live.”

“I know just the place,” Athos swung an arm around the young man’s shoulders and lead the way.

From above, Treville observed the two men walking away from his office and prayed that he had done the correct thing.

TBC


	5. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance and d'Artagnan meet.  
> Also, I took her husband's name from the first episode. I watched it again On Demand with my television provider so I could catch it. He said it so fast. I even went through a novel I have on The Three Musketeers and evidently must have missed it if they had mentioned the man's name. Also you will notice throughout my previous chapters and this one that I do take some of the dialog from the shows and fit it in where appropriate. Especially this chapter where she explains to d'Artagnan her husband's profession.  
> Oh, it's not mentioned in the novel but do d'Artagnan and the three Musketeers have names for their horses. I have been seeing that on other stories and wondered if they were just made up. If not, I would like to use them. If anyone knows, please leave a comment after this chapter is up. Thanks!

*The Bonacieux’s House*

*Athos, where are you taking me?” d’Artagnan asked as he had been following the Musketeer ever since they had left Treville’s office in search of lodgings for himself.

“Monsieur Bonacieux and his wife let out rooms, and they have an excellent reputation in the area.” Stopping in front of a well kept house in one of the better parts of the city, Athos pointed toward it. “We have arrived.”

“My thanks, Athos.” Not wanting to separate himself from the older man’s company but knowing he had too, d’Artagnan held out his hand.

Slapping his own into the youngster’s, Athos nodded. “You are quite welcome.” Turning away to leave, he paused for a moment and turned back to face the Gascon. “When do you report to the Guards?”

“Bright and early tomorrow.”

“Then make haste so you can get settled in for the night. It doesn’t do to report for duty when you’re half dead on your feet.” Walking away from d’Artagnan again, Athos felt the weight of responsibility suddenly fill him over the boy’s future. He didn’t know why he felt guilty about leaving the child on his own but he did. Shaking it off, Athos continued on his solitary path to get a drink at the local establishment.

Watching Athos’s departing form d’Artagnan felt totally alone, which he was of course. Facing the closed door before him he rapped on it several times until it opened. The young woman that welcomed him was very lovely, and he wondered if she were the maid.

“Hello, may I help you, Monsieur?”

“Yes, my friend Athos just dropped me off telling me you had apartments to let out.”

“He is always bringing business our way and for which we are very grateful.” Opening the door wider, she let him inside.

“I am Charles d’Artagnan newly arrived from Gascony to enter the ranks of Monsieur Des Essarts Guards,” he bowed. “Though it is to be only hoped that I will earn my commission as a Musketeer later on.”

“A bold pursuit for such a young man,” she responded with a shy smile. “And now it’s my turn for introductions,” her eyes twinkled. “I am Madame Constance Bonacieux.”

Disappointment kicked him in the stomach when d’Artagnan realized she was married. He had felt an immediate attraction to her as soon as he glimpsed her face once she opened the door to him. “My pardons, Madame, I mistook you for the maid not the woman of the house.”

Grinning, Constance’s eyes now fairly danced with delight. “A mistake that is all to common when people first meet me I’m afraid.”

“Yes, but it is a compliment to you that others feel you are too young to have such responsibilities.” He had been following her down a short hallway until Madame Bonacieux stopped in front of one of the apartments. 

Unlocking it, Constance handed a key to d’Artagnan. “That is yours. Just make sure you pay the rent on the last day of the month otherwise my husband won’t let me forget it.”

“I will remember, Madame.” Before she left he had a question. “Are you sure you don’t need to check with Monsieur Bonacieux before you take me on?”

“Jacques leaves those decisions up to me since he is away at times on business trips.”

“So letting out apartments is not your sole source of income?” D’Artagnan couldn’t help himself, questions filled him he was so curious about her.

“My husband deals in textiles. He is a merchant of fine quality cloth and linens who deals strictly with the nobility.”

“Should bring you in a nice tidy sum.”

“One would think, wouldn’t one,” Constance mumbled under her breath. Gaining an odd look from her young renter. Putting on a sunny smile she added, “If you would also like meals as well with your lodgings it’s extra.”

“Thank you for your kindness to a stranger, Madame Bonacieux.”

“Oh please, I don’t stand much on ceremony around here. Constance will do.” Leaving to go about her other duties, she realized she left out something important. “Just don’t call me that whenever my husband is around,” she sighed. “He’s a bit stuffy about that sort of thing, not thinking it proper.”

As she finally walked away, d’Artagnan could have sworn he heard her talking to herself again. Something along the lines of not getting so familiar with guests. The poor woman must be afraid of her husband then. Well, if Madame Constance ever needed defending he was her man for the job.

++++

*Tavern just outside the garrison*

As Athos strode in, pulled up a chair and signaled the barkeep to bring over a bottle of wine, Porthos and Aramis observed their friend from the distance of another table.

“Should we join em’?” Porthos shared the usual look with Aramis over that question.

“Wait a bit. You know what a solitary drinker Athos can be.”

“Yeah. I do.” Porthos clanged his mug of cold beer against Aramis’s. “But it’s more fun with three.”

“That it is, my friend. That it is.”

++++

*Captain Treville’s House*

Pacing back and forth did nothing for Treville’s mood. He worried more and more if he and Alexandre did the right thing. Well, him mostly as he was the one that pushed his best friend into making sure d’Artagnan learned all there was to know of swordsmanship so he would be prepared for this day. Even if the youngster didn’t know *this day* was coming very soon for him.

Knowing that d’Artagnan more than likely would write his parents a scathing letter for hiding certain facts from him, Treville wondered if he should tell the pup to hold off. In the heat of anger things can be said that can never be taken back. D’Artagnan wasn’t a hot headed Gascon for nothing as he remembered some of the things Alexandre had written to him over the years of the boy’s dangerous escapades. Yes, it seemed that *trouble* would be d’Artagnan’s middle name.

Treville prayed that *trouble* would be kind to the boy during his training with the guards and with his three best Musketeers as well.

TBC


	6. *Trouble* ... enter Rochefort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I try to stick to the original novel whenever I can, hence introducing Rochefort before the BBC series does for season 2. But I've given d'Artagnan's introduction to him a bit of a twist.

*Next Morning*

Learning the ropes in Des Essart’s Guards seemed to come naturally to d’Artagnan. Becoming bored with the routine he daydreamed the time away, counting the minutes until he could practice real fighting techniques with his three new comrades.

When he finally finished his duty for the day, d’Artagnan rushed off ending up in a collision with a gentleman who put out a restraining hand on the boy’s arm. Glancing down at the firm grip the other man had on him, d’Artagnan knew he was in the wrong. “I am profusely sorry, Monsieur.”

“Apology not accepted!” snapped the unknown man. “I’ve been itching to test my sword arm today, and you seemed to fill the bill quite nicely,” he snickered.

“I do not wish to fight you,” d’Artagnan’s eyes darted left and right looking for someone who could come to his aid, saving face in the process.

Normally he was all for fighting anyone anytime and anywhere. But being new to the garrison didn’t wish to be the cause of undue trouble for the captain, his father.

The man tapped d’Artagnan on the chest lightly with the tip of his rapier and took up his position. “En Garde!”

Realizing he wasn’t going to get out of this, d’Artagnan raised his own sword, and the two commenced their duel. With the speed d’Artagnan parried the other man’s first thrust, he noticed it caught his opponent off guard.

Both men went at each other for nearly ten full minutes without even a Red Guard interfering until d’Artagnan somehow managed to gain the upper hand, knocking his adversary to the ground.

The still unknown man was amazed to find himself on his back with a sword against his throat. Blinking up at the boy, he then introduced himself. “I am Comte de Rochefort in service of the Cardinal.”

A feeling of dread filled d’Artagnan at the man’s words. His hopes of becoming a Musketeer seemed to be dwindling down to nothing if this gentleman were telling the truth. He held out a hand to the Comte and pulled him to his feet. “I’m d’Artagnan newly appointed to the Guards and in training to become a Musketeer.”

“I’m man enough to admit that I have never been beaten before in a fair duel,” Rochefort bowed. “I stand humbled.”

D’Artagnan was astounded at the admission and narrowed his eyes wondering if he was being made fun of. Then it hit him what Rochefort had unintentionally or intentionally divulged, making d’Artagnan wary of what the Comte was like in an *unfair* fight.

“D’Artagnan!” Captain Treville’s deep voice rang out crisply in the courtyard where suddenly men from Des Essart’s Guards, Musketeers, and Red Guards magically appeared. Shaking with fear for his son, the captain rushed up and took the boy by the shoulders. It seemed that *trouble* had indeed followed d’Artagnan from Gascony. “What in all that’s holy is going on!” He glanced at Rochefort and blanched, knowing that this was the cardinal’s man and a deadly agent. The sinister scar running across the one cheek told its own story.

All but dragging the young man away from the Comte, Treville stabbed d’Artagnan with just one look. “You’ve what? Barely been here a day and end up taking on one of the cardinal’s paid assassins,” he hissed.

“I say, good job, d’Artagnan,” Porthos praised as he joined the men, slapping the boy on the back. Aramis hovered in the background giving the youngster an encouraging smile along with a thumbs up.

Glaring at both Musketeers, Treville snapped. “Telling him *that* is not what d’Artagnan needs to hear!”

“What he needs,” Athos put in slowly “is a lesson in how and when to pick your own battles.”

“Agreed,” Treville huffed in annoyance.

“But I clearly defeated him,” d’Artagnan began to protest, confused as to the fuss being made.

“Yes,” Treville acknowledged, “and in doing so gained a formidable enemy.”

Shrugging it off, d’Artagnan smiled. “Next time I won’t be so lenient with him.” Being hit on the back of the head he whirled around to stare open mouthed at Porthos who was shaking a finger at him.

“Don’t be so smug, pup,” Porthos grinned.

Off to the side, Aramis exchanged words with his friend. “You have to admit, Athos, the boy is good.”

“He’s a Gascon farm boy, promising but raw.” Athos held up a finger for Aramis to keep quiet while he heard the rest of the exchange between their captain and the youth.

“You will tell me exactly what happened and why later,” Treville ordered the boy. “I have an audience with the king shortly.” Glancing at Athos he crooked a finger. “Teach d’Artagnan something that will keep him alive.” Looking at his son once more, Treville added, “at least until he can become a Musketeer.”

Not daring to laugh until their captain left, Porthos waited until he disappeared around the corner then he let loose with a great howl.

Aramis kicked the man lightly. “Don’t defend the boy’s actions, Porthos.

“You’re a fine one to talk, giving the kid a thumbs up behind the captain’s back,” the dark skinned man pouted.

“Did any of you see me fight Rochefort?”

“Yes, but you have to be sneaker than that,” Porthos pointed out.

“I was raised to fight like a gentleman,” d’Artagnan retorted indignantly.

“Were you raised to die young?” Aramis snapped. “What are the vital things to remember in a duel?”

“Honor,” d’Artagnan jumped again because Porthos kept hitting up up the backside of the head. Rubbing the aching area, he glared at the other man. “Quit doing that!”

“Honor isn’t going to keep you alive. Anything goes in a duel,” Porthos grinned. “Biting, kicking, gouging... it’s all good.”

“If I were to do as you tell me, Porthos, I would only be fit for living among the residents at the Court of Miracles.”

“Gentlemen,” Athos broke in, “let’s get our young Gascon off the streets. We are attracting more attention than I’d like.”

“Did you notice that not a single Red Guard came running out screaming about an illegal duel,” Porthos said.

“Well it would have been a surprise to me if they had,” Aramis replied. “The Red Guard know who Rochefort is, and technically he is one of their own.”

“We could make trouble for the Red Guard for not stopping it,” Porthos’s gravelly voice held truth.

“The child attracted enough attention for now,” Athos grimaced. “D’Artagnan, I can see you will keep all of us on our toes for a long time to come.”

Smiling from ear to ear, d’Artagnan thought that was a good thing.

TBC


	7. His Eminence, Cardinal Armand Richelieu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cardinal is not a happy camper with his agent.

*Cardinal Richelieu’s Rooms*

“You rather look worse for wear, Rochefort,” Cardinal Richelieu remarked dryly, observing the dirt clinging to his agent with rather a bland eye. The cardinal had been standing by a window observing the duel below.

“Ran into a rather rude young man, your Eminence.” Rochefort attempted to dust himself off.

“I heard his apology from clear up here,” the cardinal corrected him. “I wouldn’t say that bordered on rudeness.”

“I didn’t realize we could be overheard.”

“You were in the courtyard,” the cardinal pointed out with impatience, “how could anyone not hear that?” He turned around and walked away from the window he had been looking out from. “Admit that you wanted to start a fight with the boy and be done with it,” the cardinal nearly snarled.

“You know me too well.”

“Don’t I just,” Sitting down at his desk, the cardinal picked up a pen. “The young whelp beat you,” evident surprise in his voice. “Well I guess there has to be a first time for everything.”

“He took me unawares,” Rochefort’s tone was grim. “That will not happen a second time I assure you.”

“I don’t want there to be a second time,” the cardinal’s voice rang out sharply with warning. “D’Artagnan has not been long here but has already gained something of a reputation for being handy with a blade. I could use a man like that.”

“I thought he was with the Guards and hoping to gain admittance into the ranks of the Musketeers.”

Waving that statement away as if he was shooing a fly, the cardinal glared at Rochefort. “I am hoping to eventually win him over to my side.”

“Good luck to you then,” Rochefort snapped, upset that he wasn’t allowed to take his vengeance on the youngster.

“I am keeping an eye on him for now and have assigned another one of my agents to do so as well.”

“I don’t need to ask,” Rochefort pinned the cardinal with a wry look. “The boy seems a bit young for her though.”

Shaking a finger at the other man, the cardinal smiled slightly. “What she does on her own time is none of my concern. For now she is to keep her distance and observe only.”

“Milady has never been good at simple observation.”

“She better in this case,” Richelieu snapped. “If d’Artagnan proves to be the prize I think he is, Treville will be mine as well.”

“Are you going to let me in on your secret?” Rochefort immediately snapped his mouth shut, wondering why he even bothered to ask. Past experience dealing with the cardinal should have taught him that much.

“No I will not.” The cardinal then returned to matters of grave importance awaiting him on his desk.

Bored, Rochefort nonchalantly walked around the huge room.

Ignoring the other man, the cardinal was looking through several documents. Without looking up he asked, “Why are you still here?”

Stopping suddenly, Rochefort became uncomfortable as the silence filled the room. “I assumed my presence was warranted since my last assignment was accomplished sooner than I anticipated.”

“You *assumed* wrongly then.” Still not deigning to make eye contact, Richelieu kept on shuffling through the multitude of documents on his desk. Hearing the man’s harsh breathing, the cardinal realized his agent still was there, and this time he did gaze at him in anger. “Do I have to spell it out for you, Comte?”

“Apparently you do, your Eminence.”

Putting down his quill he had in hand, Richelieu stared at the man bemused. “Do I dare detect sarcasm in your voice?”

Knowing he may be risking his head for speaking in this manner, Rochefort felt it was worth taking. His encounter with d’Artagnan left him, he’ll admit, shaken. Now he found out that the cardinal had his own agenda concerning the boy. It was a bit too much for the older man to take in. “How long have I been in your service?”

“Too long,” Richelieu snapped again, “if you have to ask that question.”

“And yet, while I await my *non-orders* you now inform me of wanting to take on this child who has recently entered the garrison.” Rochefort’s eyes darkened in fury over his loss to the impetuous upstart. “I believe my years of service should be of some importance.”

“Whatever *importance* you had gained is now fast dwindling if you insist on carrying on with this absurd conversation, Rochefort.”

Knowing when to cut his losses, the Comte bowed stiffly and left the cardinal’s presence. But when his hand barely touched the door knob his Eminence’s voice cut across the room.

“After you see to cooling off that temper of yours I’ll have need of your expertise in a few days.”

Afraid to speak for fear what foul words may escape his mouth, Rochefort just gave the cardinal a curt not and immediately stepped through the door.

++++

*Garrison Infirmary*

“I swear I was only teaching the lad how to fight dirty!” Porthos received withering glares from both Athos and Aramis.

All three musketeers watched d’Artagnan get stitched up by the doctor on duty at the garrison.

“I could have done that for him,” Aramis stated, wincing along with the boy at every painful stitch. “Probably would have done a better job of it as well,” he mumbled that last addition.

“Why did you not?” Athos quirked one brow high at his long-time friend’s mutterings.

“Because Porthos scooped the pup up and raced up here to see the doctor before I could say a word.”

“Our young Gascon holds great promise, but for the moment I believe Porthos’s style of fighting should be the last thing d’Artagnan needs to excel in.” Athos gave his huge comrade a speaking glance.

“Yo!” d’Artagnan called out. “D’Artagnan’s standing right here and heard every word!” he cried out indignantly, his voice laced with pain. “It wasn’t Porthos’s fault you know.” Then he yelped all the louder when the doctor jabbed a bit too deeply into his skin. “Ow!”

Grimacing, Porthos couldn’t look the boy in the face any longer.

“I don’t blame you,” d’Artagnan tried to reach the older musketeer.

“The drinks tonight will be on me, boy,” Porthos voice boomed out.

Grinning, d’Artagnan held up his hand and waved it about. “I’m all stitched up and ready to go at it again.”

“Give that hand a rest,” Athos ordered as he walked over to the young man. Gently cradling the boy’s hand in his, he examined the damage. Once more his gaze swept the guilty expression on Porthos’s features. “I still can’t figure out how this happened.”

Even though Porthos had dark skin, the blush that broke out on the man’s face could be seen by all.

Curious as to the story behind his friend’s reaction, Athos asked, “Well?”

“There was this woman,” Porthos’s rough voice spoke softly, but he was too embarrassed to tell them what actually happened. “Let’s just say I got distracted and leave it at that.”

“And d’Artagnan paid the price,” Athos sighed and exchanged an amused look with Aramis.

“I say let’s all take Porthos up on his offer of drinks later on,” Aramis grinned as d’Artagnan smiled back.

Thanking the doctor for his efforts, the four men quickly left the infirmary behind them.

TBC


	8. Milady's Not So Simple Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milady literally bumps into d'Artagnan. 
> 
> Oh, and I believe this is the first time (that I have seen unless memory fails me and it could, LOL!) that an actress playing Milady de Winter was not blonde or light haired in some way. So for the sake of the BBC series I will go with a dark haired, green eyed woman.  
> I couldn't make out her eye color when I watched the show but Constance mentions it to dear d'Art in an ep and I'm running with that.

*Just outside Musketeer Headquarters, shortly after d’Artagnan’s run-in with the Comte*

Watching the young man spar with Aramis from the vantage point of her carriage, Milady still hadn't come to terms with why the cardinal was so interested in this boy from Lupiac.

Fanning herself she yawned out of sheer boredom. She needed to be active; it was something she craved as one would a good vintage wine. Noticing that the match had come to its inevitable conclusion, with the older Musketeer clearly winning, Milady smiled.

++++

Tapping d'Artagnan lightly on the chest with his rapier, Aramis boasted loudly. "Take heart, my young friend, that you've been beaten by the best. There's no shame in that."

"No, but there's shame in braggin'," Porthos's deep, rough voice filled the awkward silence that had suddenly developed between the other two men.

Aramis blushed, glancing quickly at d'Artagnan's embarrassed face.

"You need to show me those moves again," d'Artagnan smiled gamely at Aramis, showing no hard feelings at the good-natured ribbing from his friend. “It’s a wonder that I beat the Comte at all,” he pushed his hair out of his eyes.

"Are you two done?" Athos joined them quietly taking in the scene.

"I am," Aramis sheathed his sword in his leather scabbard. "Though d'Artagnan still needs to put in some more practice today."

"Later, Captain Treville needs to see us." Athos caught the boy's hopeful gaze. "Not you. You need to keep practicing.”

"All right," d'Artagnan deferred to the older man. “But if you are all leaving me who do I practice with?” he shouted after the three Musketeers as they headed to the garrison and their appointment with his father. “Great just great,” he muttered and kicked out at the dirt. “I guess that leaves me to practice by myself.”

++++

Seeing the Gascon standing all alone now, Milady picked her opportunity to get better acquainted. Stepping carefully out of her carriage she adjusted her dress and headed for her innocent target.

++++

D’Artagnan decided that he needed to eat something before continuing anymore sword work. Sweat trickled down his neck and face as he shook out his wet hair. D'Artagnan grabbed a towel to dry himself off with as he walked over to a nearby post where he had draped his leather jacket. Having put one arm inside it, he was then bumped from behind with such force that it spun him completely around to end up staring at an extremely attractive woman. Feeling a bit ridiculous, still having one arm in and one out of his jacket, he quickly remedied that situation by jerking it on quickly.

“Oh I do beg your pardon, Monsieur,” Milady coyly apologized.

Still stunned at the radiant beauty before him, d’Artagnan took in her dark, wavy hair and lovely green eyes. “No harm done, Mademoiselle,” he acknowledged with a slight bob of his head. “Are you looking for someone or lost perhaps?”

“I fear a little of both,” she laughed coquettishly, batting her long eyelashes at him. “And it’s Madame,” Milady corrected him. “Where would the nearest place for lodgings be?”

Thinking immediately of the Bonacieuxs, d’Artagnan knew they were full up. “You are just outside the city.” He pointed in the opposite direction from where she came. “I’m sure you will find something suitable.”

Smiling, Milady gave him a slight curtsey. “My thanks,” she tilted her head as she gazed directly into his curious face. “May I know your name, Monsieur?” fanning herself while hiding her smile at the boy’s naivety.

“I’m d’Artagnan,” he bowed over the hand she held out to him and gently kissed it.

“And I am known as Milady de Winter.”

Releasing her hand, d’Artagnan cringed inside thinking that he was destined to meet lovely women that were married. Hating to part from her company but knowing he must, d'Artagnan stepped to the left to let her get past him and she mirrored his exact move. This time he went to the right as did she. They both ended up laughing over it.

“Shall we dance, d’Artagnan,” Milady shamelessly flirted with the young Gascon.

“All we’re missing is the ballroom,” d’Artagnan’s arms spread out wide. “But alas,” he sighed, “all I can offer you is the hard, dirt ground.”

“Perhaps next time,” Milady tapped her fan against his chest.

Watching her walk away from him, d’Artagnan was surprised when Milady turned around and gave him a few parting words.

“By the way, d’Artagnan, I am a widow.” Laughing once more she headed for her carriage.

++++

Gathering her skirts together Milady was about to step inside the carriage when a long arm stretched out from within to help her aboard. Trustingly she put her own hand out and ended up sitting beside the gentleman who helped her. “Say it, Rochefort, before you burst.”

“A reprimand at this point would be moot... don’t you think, Milady,” Rochefort remarked dryly.

“You of all people should know I handle things in my own way,” Milady watched d’Artagnan walking away from the grounds, “and in my own good time.”

“The cardinal thinks otherwise,” Rochefort pointed out for her benefit, “or you could lose that pretty head of yours.” Leaning back against the plush velvet lining of the carriage, he watched her carefully.

“Who says I can’t have my cake and eat it too?”

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully as her words registered, Rochefort smiled grimly. “I rather had an enlightening or un-enlightening conversation with the cardinal. You never know where you stand after you’re done talking to his Eminence,” Rochefort saw surprise reflected on her face. “All your beauty, Milady, won’t save you from his wrath if you cross him.”

Her finger tugged at the choker she constantly wore around her neck which hid a dreadful secret from her past. “Oh don’t be so dramatic,” Milady scolded in a bored tone as she tried to ignore his words. Pushing aside a lace curtain Milady peeked out at d’Artagnan’s retreating form once more. “This could prove highly entertaining for all concerned.”

TBC


	9. Special Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three Musketeers and d'Artagnan are on a mission for Treville.

*Captain Treville’s Office*

“I need you three to make sure this document,” Treville handed it to Athos,” gets delivered to Monsieur Pierre Abney in Le Marais immediately.”

“I don’t suppose we get to know its contents,” Porthos spoke up and got none to gently nudged in his side by Aramis.

“It’s none of our business to know,” Athos glared at his friend.

“That’s right,” the captain snapped and gave Porthos a frustrated look. Then focusing on Athos once more added, “Take d’Artagnan with you.”

“The boy?” Athos seemed shocked. “He’s not ready to go along with us on a mission yet.”

“When do you feel the time would be right?” Treville almost sneered. “Sometime next year perhaps?” He knew he shouldn’t take it out on his best man but wanted his son to gain experience quickly. Treville knew how long it took to become a Musketeer but felt his son could cut that time in half. Though he couldn’t tell his men that. They would wonder about his favoritism. “He has to prove himself at some point. Why not now?”

“I’m a good judge of character and say we take him with us. D’Artagnan can do the job all right.” Porthos placed his large hands on his hips, daring Athos to continue in his argument against the young Gascon coming along.

“You’re a terrible judge of character,” Aramis smiled cockily, “especially when you’re sober.”

Porthos scowled ferociously at the other Musketeer, not scaring Aramis in the slightest.

“This is not up for debate,” Treville’s voice was sharp. “Inform d’Artagnan he does not have to report to the Guards but is to accompany you three.”

Wondering why their captain was pushing so hard for them to take the farm boy. Athos nodded his head, lips thinned to nearly a fine line as he held back more angry words. Bowing to the captain, he turned sharply and headed for the door with his two comrades close behind.

++++

*The Bonacieux’s Residence*

Not finding the boy where they left him practicing, the three Musketeers headed to d’Artagnan’s lodgings.

Aramis rapped on the door first and it was opened by Madame Bonacieux. Removing his hat, he swept it off with a flourish and bowed.

“I know you’re here for d’Artagnan,” she let all three of them inside. “He just finished dinner and is in his room.”

They all thanked her and went directly to the youngster’s abode. 

When d’Artagnan opened it and found his friends standing there he felt guilty and started babbling. “I know I was supposed to keep up my practice but there was this beautiful woman and then I got hungry.”

“Did any of that make sense to you, Aramis?” Porthos grinned.

“I picked up on the *beautiful woman* part,” Aramis snickered.

“Of course you would,” Athos rolled his eyes at the man who at times had a one track mind where the female sex was concerned.

“D’Artagnan, Captain Treville has given us a task to perform and wants you to come along.”

Realizing this was his father’s way of helping him, d’Artagnan was pleased at the news. “When do we leave?”

“In an hour’s time,” was Athos’s clipped response. He regretted the way his words must have sounded to the boy as he could tell by d’Artagnan’s hurt expression. The child wasn’t stupid and probably knew he was against it. Placing a hand on the young man’s arm he shook it gently. “I just don’t feel your ready for this yet.”

“I can handle anything you can, Athos,” d’Artagnan’s chin jutted out stubbornly.

Porthos and Aramis exchanged amused grins and started whispering back and forth.

Athos abruptly spun around and berated them. “I do not want to hear either of you placing bets on how long the boy lasts or if he can best me.”

“Who us?” Porthos feigned surprise.

“Whatever gave you that silly idea?” Aramis asked innocently and tried not to laugh as he heard d’Artagnan guffaw in the background.

Making a disgusted sound, Athos headed for the door. “One hour, d’Artagnan or we leave without you. Orders be damned!”

The slam of the door shook the youngster’s room and made the two older Musketeers feel badly at their behavior.

“Perhaps you should go after him and calm him down,” d’Artagnan suggested quickly, “while I get my things together.”

“Have I said the kid’s smart?” Porthos nodded.

“Repeatedly,” Aramis grinned. “Smarter than us considering how we just pulled the tiger’s tale and got nearly bitten in the process.” Aramis waved goodbye to the young Gascon for now as he and Porthos went after their leader.

++++

*Milady’s House*

“Milady, a man delivered this for you.” Kitty handed her mistress a scented envelope. Removing it from her servant’s hand, Milady quickly broke the seal, read it and then crumbled the paper into a ball. She smiled wickedly. “We’ll see how many lives d’Artagnan and his friends have.”

++++

*On the Way to Le Marais*

“Do any of you know what’s in that document?” They had been traveling for nearly two hours and d’Artagnan was getting restless. His companions, for the most part, have been entertaining him with their exploits. Of course that didn’t include Athos who quietly led the way.

“Porthos dared to ask the same thing of our captain,” Aramis laughed gayly which had the big man glaring back at him.

“I gather that didn’t go down very well,” d’Artagnan remarked.

“Got it in one,” Aramis nodded approval.

“How many times do I have to repeat myself? Ours is not to question orders, d’Artagnan.” Turning slightly in his saddle, he gave his other two friends a cold look. “The same goes for you two.” Looking over at the boy, he sighed. “If you’re ever going to be one of us you better get used to that little fact.”

“Yes, sir,” d’Artagnan sighed as well, wondering if he’d ever earn this man’s respect.

Leaning over his horse, Aramis whispered to the boy. “His bark’s worse than his bite.”

“Besides,” Porthos grunted, and not quietly either, “Athos is probably just hungry like us. He gets that way when he hasn’t eaten.”

D’Artagnan laughed along with the other two men, but his laughter died a quick death when he spotted something glinting in the trees above. Dread filled him as he made out a figure positioned up there with what looked like a musket. “ATHOS! DOWN!” he shouted as he whipped out his own musket and fired with perfect accuracy bringing down his target.

For his part, Athos jerked on the reigns of his horse so suddenly that he nearly unseated himself but obeyed the order without question. He somehow managed to get out of the saddle in time to dodge the bullet that was surely aimed his way. Athos heard a cry from above and then a man fell from the tree. He looked at d’Artagnan with new eyes and a glimmer of respect for the boy’s skill.

Walking over to the dead man, Porthos kicked him with his foot. “No one I know.”

“Seems the trees are raining assassins,” Aramis mused with a bit of levity.

“You saved my life,” Athos clapped the boy on the shoulder.

“It’s what we do. Watch each other’s backs,” d’Artagnan ducked his head shyly and was pleasantly surprised when Athos chucked him under the chin. Something his own father had down on occasion.

“Told you I was a good judge of character,” Porthos preened and then frowned when Athos and Aramis shook their fingers at him. “Even when I’m sober.”

Listening to their conversation with half an ear, d’Artagnan’s attention was caught when he noticed something in the dead man’s hand. The others weren’t looking his way when he removed the flower. Odd he thought for there were no blue Forget-Me-Nots anywhere in the nearby fields. D’Artagnan recognized them having grown up on a farm where the flowers were in abundance. Tossing it aside he figured it was of no consequence. The man must have had a thing for flowers. 

“From here on out - eyes front and sharp!” Athos ordered as he re-mounted.

“I’m going to brag about the boy’s marksmanship when we get back to the garrison,” Aramis boasted.

“Gonna take all the credit cause you taught the lad?” Porthos laughed.

“You have to admit that it was my weak spot,” d’Artagnan reminded Porthos, “until Aramis took me in hand.”

“It certainly isn’t any longer,” Athos genuinely smiled at the youngster.

D’Artagnan swore that he wouldn’t complain about a single thing until they got home. He was so happy to finally have won Athos’s vote of confidence, well at least where his shooting skills were concerned. He was sure the rest would come later.

++++

*Le Marais*

“Finally!” Porthos was looking forward to relaxing in a nice inn full of lovely ladies, food and barrels of wine now that they arrived in the village.

All the men dismounted and tethered their horses in front of a house that had seen better days.

“You sure you got the right address?” Porthos looked at Athos oddly.

“Of course I have the correct house,” but Athos approached it slowly. Whether it was Porthos’s words or his own natural instinct for self preservation, he used hand signals and motioned to each man where he wanted them to be positioned.

Knocking on the door, Athos stood back as it was cautiously opened and an old man poked his head out to snarl at him.

“I keep telling peddlers that I don’t want anything!” the old man glared at Athos.

Stepping forward, Athos observed the other man’s agitation. “Do we look like we are selling anything, Monsieur?”

Recognizing the pauldron covering the man’s shoulder, the old man instantly knew he was dealing with a Musketeer. Then he spotted the other two men, one to his left and one off to his right. But when he saw the boy he gave a great bark of laughter. “Treville stooping to kidnapping children out of their homes to press them into the king’s service now?”

The old man and the Musketeers observed d’Artagnan shift from foot to foot. Knowing that it was him that remark was meant for. He felt absurdly uncomfortable upon hearing that man’s laughter.

“Then you do know that we are doing the king’s business?” Aramis asked pleasantly.

“Hand it over whatever it is,” the old man held out his hand. He wasn’t much on conversation and wanted to get this over with quickly.

“Not until we have proof you are indeed Pierre Abney,” Athos watched the man glance back inside his home. Senses on alert, because he didn’t know who else was inside, Athos started to back away from the entrance until the old man spoke up again.

“Come, come. I mustn’t be seen talking to the likes of you,” he waved them all inside.

“Now I’m damned insulted,” Porthos growled.

“I think he meant because you’re Musketeers,” d’Artagnan corrected the false impression that Porthos was under. Feeling that maybe his huge friend thought it was the color of his skin that made the man make his remark.

“All right then.” Porthos waited until d’Artagnan went in ahead of him.

Evidently Athos had been briefed before they had left the garrison on the type of proof he was to accept. For after a few minutes in Abney’s company, Athos handed over the document to him. Turning towards his friends he seemed relieved. “Our job’s now completed.”

“Rather anti-climatic after what happened on our way up here,” d’Artagnan commented as they rode to the nearest inn.

“Ah! Life in the Musketeers does have its ups and downs, boy,” Porthos grinned.

“And its rewards,” Aramis winked.

“Nothing to add to that, Athos?” d’Artagnan waited.

“Yes,” Athos replied quietly. As his horse passed d’Artagnan’s he said softly, “Heartaches.”

TBC


	10. Pride... Mistrust… Flirtations… and Miscommunications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see. We have a proud papa and then the Cardinal takes Milady to task. She then detains dear d'Art who in turn does something *stupid* (LOL!)

*Captain Treville’s Office, following day*

“My thanks for sending me along to Le Marais with the others, father.” D’Artagnan sat down and removed his jacket. “Monsieur Abney thinks you’ve stooped to robbing cradles to fill your Musketeer roster,” he laughed as his father’s face turned beet red.

“He always used to be an ornery cuss,” Treville commented.

“One could say that the Monsieur needed a few lessons in etiquette.”

“More than one I’d say,” Treville relaxed as he soaked in the fact that he finally had the boy with him. It really hadn’t hit him until this very moment as he gazed upon his son’s happy face. “Aside from Abney’s bad manners I hear you acquitted yourself quite well by saving Athos’s life.”

“Mon dieu! I thought Athos was a dead man if my aim wasn’t true. But thanks to the hours of practice I put in with Aramis it paid off dividends.” Thinking about the blue Forget-Me-Nots clutched in the assassin’s hand, d’Artagnan didn’t know if they were relevant or not. Not feeling it had any significant meaning he never mentioned it to his three friends so he didn’t bother telling his father either.

“I think Athos’s tune will change about taking you along with them on missions now,” Treville remarked proudly.

Standing back up, d’Artagnan grabbed his leather jacket and put it back on. “I’m due on patrol with the Guards shortly. Just wanted to thank you for pushing me on Athos,” he grinned cheekily.

“Take care and we will talk again later, son,” Treville waved. “Au revoir.”

“Au revoir, father.” D’Artagnan swiftly left the office.

++++

*Cardinal Richelieu’s Office*

“What the deuce were you up to having that man target Athos en route to Pierre Abneys?” Richelieu slammed his hand down on the top of his desk, making his ink blotter shake. “They were on the king’s business!”

Milady’s mouth formed a perfect moue. “Must you get all worked up over something so trivial?”

“Trivial! Mon dieu!” The cardinal wondered perhaps that she had finally come unhinged. Calming himself down, he took a deep breath and released it. “Do I assume this was a test of some type on your part?” his eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Or do you have something against Athos in particular?”

Fingering her choker, as she was prone to do when nervous or upset, Milady smiled coyly. “It was a whim of mine to see how our young Gascon would act under pressure.”

Placing a hand on his brow, the cardinal frowned. “Well, at least those Musketeers accomplished their assignment,” his eyes stabbed into her own green ones. “No thanks to you,” he growled low.

“Is this the reason you called me in?” Milady snapped, losing her own calm demeanor. “To slap my wrists, so to speak?”

“You’re very lucky that I don’t clap you in irons for your foolishness,” Richelieu snapped. “Do I have to remind you that I found you in the gutter and made you my creature?” he held up a finger. “Because if you don’t watch your step, Milady, that’s where you’ll find yourself once more.”

“Threats?” Milady instantly stood up and twirled around to leave. But before making a grand exit she had some parting words for the cardinal and faced him again. “This isn’t because you’re upset over Athos nearly getting his head blown off.” Milady walked over to his desk and leaned over closely into his space. Her décolleté clearly on display for the cardinal’s benefit. “This is about the boy… d’Artagnan.”

Knowing she hit a nerve, Milady flounced away while fanning herself. Reaching for the door knob, she glanced over her shoulder at the cardinal and smiled to herself as a noticeable scowl formed on his Eminence’s face. “You were afraid that something would happen to the young Gascon.” Playing the coquette once more Milady chuckled appreciatively for whatever plan the cardinal had for d’Artagnan. “Careful, Cardinal, or I may learn your secret and use it against you.” As she finally made her exit, Milady swore to herself that she would do everything in her power to make it so.

++++

*Garrison Stables*

“You have to admit, Athos, that was a brilliant shot the boy made,” Aramis boasted as he brushed his horse’s mane gently.

“Don’t give the child a swelled over it,” Athos warned his cocky friend. “D’Artagnan still has a lot to learn.” He brandished a brush about pretending he was going to throw it at Aramis’s head.

“Least either of you forget,” Porthos butted in, “it was me that told you d’Artagnan could do the job.” He was feeding his own horse oats from a bucket but couldn’t miss an opportunity to poke a jab at them for their lack of confidence in the youngster. Though, it was Athos who was the most doubtful.

“You’re not going to let us forget that are you?” Aramis grinned at the larger Musketeer.

“Damn right!” Porthos laughed.

“Gentlemen,” Athos’s stern voice broke in, “and I use that term quite loosely. I suggest we tend to these animals without boring them to death.”

“You ain’t got no sense of humor, my friend,” Porthos grunted.

“Tell me something I do not know,” Athos retorted grimly as he finished tending to his horse.

++++

*Garrison Courtyard*

Guard duty over and done with for the day, d’Artagnan made his way across the courtyard. While heading for the Bonacieux’s he ran into a familiar entrancing figure.

“Monsieur d’Artagnan, n’est-ce pas?”

“Correct, Madame de Winter,” he bowed. He noticed her dark hair was worn in a neat chignon though it was nearly hidden away by the large, fashionable hat she wore. 

“Are you in a hurry or can you pass the time with me?”

“There would be nothing more appealing to me than to do that, but I’m just off guard duty and need to freshen up and get something to eat.”

“Bad timing I suppose,” Milady tapped her closed fan against her lips. “Perhaps another time when it’s more convenient.”

Knowing it was a question which d’Artagnan had no answer for at present he simply smiled. He really needed to leave because Constance would hit him over the head with her rolling pin if he were late again for dinner, a habit that has happened all too frequently since joining the Guards. D’Artagnan did not like being on the receiving end of her anger. “I do beg your forgiveness, Madame, but I am rather in a hurry.”

“Young men are always rather in a hurry but seemingly end up going nowhere in my experience,” Milady smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. They flared coldly though the boy didn’t seem to notice her own growing anger. Milady started to wonder if she was losing her touch. As she watched d’Artagnan back away from her she called out to him. “Oh, d’Artagnan! You have my permission to call me Milady from now on.”

He acknowledged that with another bow and a small wave. Then d’Artagnan fairly ran the rest of the way to his lodgings.

++++

*The Bonacieux’s House*

“Where is that stupid boy?” Constance seethed as she watched d’Artagnan’s dinner get cold. She would have to shove it back in the oven to warm it up again. How many times has he been late? Too many by her count.

As Constance heard the front door slam shut, she caught a blur of movement racing past her kitchen. From past experience she knew d’Artagnan was getting cleaned up first. Muttering to herself, Constance re-heated the bowl of stew along with thick slices of homemade bread.

Hearing a noise behind her, Constance turned around to come face to face with a chagrined d’Artagnan. “What part of *being on time* don’t you understand?” she stamped her foot.

Puzzlement showed clearly on his face. “But I’m not late.”

“You’re being stupid again,” Constance poked a finger in the young man’s chest. “I told you I had to leave early and would have your meal ready at four o’clock,” she blew a piece of stray hair out of her eyes. “Care to guess what time it is now?”

Shaking his head no, d’Artagnan felt miserable. It must have been talking to Milady that had set him back.

“Four twenty and I’m very late,” Constance threw a kitchen towel on the sink. Removing her apron she pointed to the stove. “Take that out in another ten minutes. It should be hot enough by then.”

Before Constance left her expression softened as she caught the boy’s dejected look. “Try not to be stupid again for my sake if not your own.”

As she left the house, d’Artagnan wondered how a day that started out nicely could end in shambles. Well maybe shambles wasn’t quite the right word. It was like the light went out of his day after Constance’s departure.

D’Artagnan knew he had no right to even think of her in that way, but alas he couldn’t help himself. Removing his dinner from the oven d’Artagnan dug in, relishing the thick stew’s flavor. As he dunked a slice of bread into his bowl he made a promise to himself to not be the *stupid* Gascon that Constance believed him to be.

TBC


	11. In Sickness...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A jealous lieutenant of the Guards exacts a toll on our young Gascon.

Bright and early next morning found d’Artagnan bundled up under the covers until a cold gust of air blew over his body making him shiver.

Blinking the sleep out of his blurry eyes, d’Artagnan stared open-mouthed in surprise at Athos, Aramis and Porthos’s grinning faces stared down at him.

The reason behind his renewed bout of shivering was caused by Aramis who threw the covers off of him and had them still bunched up in his hands. 

“Come on, sleepyhead,” Porthos cajoled the youth who in turn snatched the covers from Aramis and pulled them over his head.

Worry lacing his tone, Athos frowned at the boy. “Usually you’re the one up with the birds kicking us out of our beds.”

“Growing up on a farm you get up early in the morning to do chores,” d’Artagnan’s red nose peeked out from under the safety of his warm blankets, “you get used to it.”

“Does he sound congested to you?” Aramis asked the other two men.

“The lad doesn’t sound quite right, but he ain’t shaken the sleep from him yet either,” Porthos gently tugged on the boy’s foot. “It’s seven a.m. and we’re hungry, d’Artagnan. I can just smell those fresh omelettes at the inn now,” he laughed and playfully slapped the boy’s leg. “So come on you lazy layabout.”

Struggling to sit up, d’Artagnan groaned as the room suddenly swam around him in waves. Clutching at his head he flopped bonelessly back down on the bed, curling up in a ball. “Mon dieu! My head feels like it’s ready to split open.”

Immediately Aramis felt d’Artagnan’s forehead. Frowning, his concerned gaze turned toward his friends. “He’s burning up.”

Kneeling down, Athos ran his fingers gently through the boy’s sweat slicked hair. “D’Artagnan, what did you get up to last night since you didn’t join us for drinks at the inn?”

“The lad was fine when I last saw him on guard duty,” Porthos grim voice added.

“After I was done I came straight here and had dinner,” d’Artagnan stifled another moan. It was bad enough his friends had to see him in this weakened state, because he always wanted to appear strong in their presence. Otherwise, how would he ever earn a place beside them.

“Somehow I hear a *but* in there,” Aramis whispered. He was extremely worried about the boy’s rising temperature. Wondering also about d’Artagnan’s previous night’s activities.

“I had every intention of joining all of you until Lieutenant Guischard came knocking and ordered me to pull the night duty as well. One of the other Musketeer’s had been badly injured earlier and they were short-handed.” Wearily, d’Artagnan leaned into Athos’s hand that cradled his cheek. He felt so ill that now he could care less about his actions.

“Mon dieu!” Aramis exclaimed with a string of profanities that turned d’Artagnan’s ears red or that could have been his fever as well. “Last night we had a torrential downpour!” Looking down on the sick child he asked an obvious question. “And you were out in it all night?”

“Damnation!” Porthos swore violently, followed by an equal amount of the physical abuse he would reign down on Guischard’s head.

“Short-handed, be damned!” Athos growled. “Guischard could have had his pick of any of the men. Knowing that d’Artagnan already put in his time for today he still chose him.” The youngster decided that this was a most appropriate time to break out into a bad fit of coughing. Athos sat on the bed holding the boy up against him tightly for fear he’d fall off. Aramis went into the kitchen quickly pulling open drawers until he found what he needed. Shouting out from there he said, “You know what Guischard stands for?” 

“I don’t care what his name means,” Porthos spat out in disgust. “Just wait until I get my hands on em’.”

“Well, my friends, it means wily or crafty and I believe he was living up to that,” Aramis came back into the room laying a cool, wet towel on the boy’s forehead.

“You’re saying that he planned this,” Athos too now wished to beat the lieutenant within an inch of his life for such a senseless act.

“I’ve watched him with our young Gascon at times and I can’t say I have liked what I’ve seen,” Aramis suddenly ran out into the kitchen again to see if the water he had put on the stove was hot enough. He still had to wait about ten more minutes until it was just right then he yelled out, “Porthos, come help me carry this!”

Both men held a large pot of hot water, carefully bringing it into d’Artagnan’s room laying it on a low table Athos had dragged over by the bed.

“Athos, help d’Artagnan sit up better and lean him over the pot,” Aramis calmly ordered.

“May I ask what this is supposed to do?” Still, Athos did as was told despite his curiosity. He trusted Aramis who was, for all intents and purposes, a man who knew a bit of medicine and therefore was the one that always patched them up when they were injured away from the garrison.

“D’Artagnan will breath in the vapors and it will help his lungs. Loosen the congestion,” Aramis sighed. “Hopefully, the boy will be able to spit up the phlegm that’s building up in his chest.” Grabbing a towel, he handed it to Athos. “Now lay that over his head so that it also covers the pot.”

“Almost like a steam bath,” Porthos watched and prayed this worked as d’Artagnan’s harsh coughing made him flinch.

“Exactly so,” Aramis agreed. “Porthos, looks like we’re skipping breakfast. Would you mind reporting to Captain Treville that we’ll be a little late and that d’Artagnan’s in no fit state to go anywhere either?”

“I’m on it.” With a last look at their youngest, the big man headed out.

“I wonder where Constance is?” Athos hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since they arrived.

“Out,” d’Artagnan managed to say. “Left last night to go to her brothers.”

“That explains why she isn’t here bossing us around and taking care of you,” Aramis grinned even though d’Artagnan couldn’t see him.

“Mmmm, not bossy,” d’Artagnan mumbled.

Slapping the child lightly on the back, Athos growled in his ear. “Less talking, more breathing in and out or all Aramis’s work will go to waste.”

“K, Athos.”

“Did the boy just agree with you?” Aramis quirked a brow.

“It would seem so.”

“Miracles are possible then,” Aramis mused as he said a quick prayer for d’Artagnan’s health.

The two older Musketeers were startled when the door to the house was thrown open and in strode their captain. 

“How is he?” Captain Treville stared down at his son, worry lines deeply etched on his face.

As soon as Aramis quickly explained what had brought this about, he was well and truly astonished at the physical change this wrought in their commander. 

Treville sat down and took over Athos’s position as he tenderly whispered to d’Artagnan.

“Something here doesn’t quite add up?” Athos murmured to Aramis as all three of them stepped back into the kitchen.

“First the captain sends us to personally make sure our boy gets to the garrison unharmed,” Aramis ticked off on his fingers. “He then orders us to take him with us to Le Marais and...” Aramis doesn’t get to finish as Porthos came up behind them to add his piece.

“And,” Porthos smiled sheepishly, “I’ve seen d’Artagnan head up to Treville’s office numerous times since he’s been here.”

“You didn’t think that important enough to mention before?” Athos gave him a cool look.

“It ain’t any of my business nor yours for that matter,” Porthos shrugged.

“His actions now speak louder than words to me,” Aramis watched their captain closely. “I’d bet a months wages that he’s somehow related to d’Artagnan.”

“Bah!” Athos grumbled. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he waved his one hand in the air. “Why all the subterfuge? D’Artagnan’s not of royal blood.”

“That we know of?” Porthos added which had his two friends look at him as if he had grown two heads.

“No, my friends,” Aramis said, “I doubt that’s it.” Walking over to grab a towel to dry his hands he glanced at the others. “After d’Artagnan’s fit again we may be able to wheedle some information out of him.”

“Or not,” Porthos snorted. “He’s a right stubborn Gascon.”

“For now I would like nothing more than to run my blade through Guischard.” Athos wanted payback for doing this to his young friend. “If he did this out of a misguided fit of jealousy we’ll find out about it.”

“How about now?” Porthos figured the boy was in good hands with their captain.

Returning to the room, Athos spoke quietly. “Captain, we’d like to personally talk to Lieutenant Guischard.”

Knowing he should tell the men no, Treville too wanted to see Guischard brought low by these three for what he had done. “Yes. Fine,” his voice was clipped. Gazing at the young man he held in his arms, whose body was wracked with coughing, Treville swallowed a lump in his throat. “Try not to kill him. Nasty paperwork for me you know.”

“I can not make that promise, sir,” Athos remarked gravely. “If he chooses to fight... it will be our duty and our pleasure to kill him.”

Nodding his head, Treville watched as his three best Musketeers went on their own private mission while his was to keep his son alive.

TBC


	12. To Recoveries... Demotions... and Miscalculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boy gets better, the lieutenant gets his comeuppance and things with Vadim didn't go quite as planned.  
> As usual, you'll see snippets of real dialog mixed in with my story and little spoilers for the episode Sleight of Hand.

*Des Essart’s Company*

“Where is Lieutenant Guischard?” Athos demanded as he burst through the doors.

A tall, thin man suddenly appeared before the Musketeer. He had a cocky attitude that was obvious to all. “I am he.”

Getting up into his face, Athos growled. “Why did you need d’Artagnan again after he served his duty earlier in the day?”

“Like I already told the boy,” Guischard shrugged, “we were short-handed.”

“That won’t fly,” Aramis scoffed.

“Why don’t you admit you just don’t like the lad and wanted to see him suffer?” Porthos was anxious to put his fist in that smug face.

“Why would I do that and risk my commission?” Guischard acted as if he were affronted by the accusation.

“Perhaps you’re stupid,” Aramis offered which made Porthos laugh heartily.

Stabbing a finger in the officer’s face, Athos spat. “Because of you d’Artagnan has a serious case of congestion of the chest.” He lost control of his temper and grabbed the lieutenant by the throat. “If he doesn’t get better within the next twenty four hours, d’Artagnan could die!”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” Guischard brushed off Athos’s words reaching up to ease the Musketeer’s grip on his throat.

“I’ll show you drama!” Athos’s sword flashed out of his scabbard so quickly that it even took his friends by surprise.

Guischard’s face lost all color as he looked around for help from his fellow guardsmen. Only to find that no one was coming to his aid. What he didn’t realize until now was that d’Artagnan was quite well liked by most of the men in the garrison, whether it be Musketeer or Guards. It would seem he was on thin ice which was starting to crack underneath his feet.

“Athos,” Aramis whispered. “Stand down. We do not need to shed blood unless the worst happens.” He put his hand on Athos’s sword, gently pushing it down. “Remember what the captain said about saving him all that nasty paperwork?”

“Treville will be seeing you after he’s certain d’Artagnan comes out of this,” Athos relished telling Guischard, watching the man squirm under his direct gaze.

“The captain is with the boy?” That piece of news shook Guischard up more than Athos’s blade did.

“I feel a demotion coming on,” Porthos grinned.

And the three inseparables left the lieutenant pondering his not so excellent future.

++++

*Back to the Bonacieux’s Home*

“How is he?” Athos took over from Treville the minute they came back. Holding d’Artagnan upright as the boy breathed in the steam.

“His congestion is easing up,” Treville told them all.

“Good,” Aramis smiled. “That’s a good sign.”

“Is Guischard still among the living?” Treville’s gazed locked on Athos.

“Yes,” the older Musketeer snapped. “We didn’t learn anything useful but his actions alone spoke volumes,” he glanced down at the young bent head and lightly touched the dark hair hanging in strings from sweat, “at least to me.”

“I see.” Watching Athos with his son, he felt envious. They had an immediate connection that he hoped to have one day with his boy. “Seems I need to have a talk with the good lieutenant.” One last look at d’Artagnan and Treville nodded to his men as he left the house.

“Pauvre diable,” Aramis murmured.

“Who? The captain or Guischard?” Porthos asked as he got another fresh towel to lay over the boy’s head.

“The lieutenant of course after Treville gets through wiping the floor with him.”

“Sacre bleu!” D’Artagnan managed to choke out between fits of coughing. “Would everyone cease talking so loud?”

“I think our puppy’s coming back,” Porthos laughed, relieved that their youngest was back to life.

“Merde! I am not anyone’s puppy!”

“Easy, d’Artagnan,” Athos whispered calmly. “Porthos is just teasing you.” He rubbed soothingly up and down the youngster’s back helping him breathe easier.

Shrugging off Athos’s gentle ministrations, d’Artagnan sat up under his own power throwing the damp towel at Aramis who snatched it out of the air. “Thank you,” he wearily offered and leaned back against Athos again. “All of you.”

“The captain appeared right worried over you,’ Porthos waited to see how the child would respond to that.

Quick thinking on d’Artagnan’s part saved him for the moment. “Remember, he knew me as a little boy back home. He saw me from time to time. I think he worried what he would have had to say to my father and mother had I not pulled through.”

“That was an excellent answer,” Aramis noted.

“Why would it have been otherwise?” D’Artagnan wondered if he had slipped up somewhere. He doubted his father, his real father that is, wanted their relationship paraded out in front of God and country just yet.

“I don’t really know why I said that.” Aramis cleared his throat, turning a nice shade of red.

“Well I for one have had an unnerving evening and need my rest.” Athos got up, making sure d’Artagnan would hold his own.

“You and Porthos go on,” Aramis urged as he removed his hat and cape. “I’ll stay to make sure the youngster doesn’t relapse.

“I’ll... be... fine,” d’Artagnan wheezed out until it turned into a hacking cough.

Making a shooing motion with his hands to the other two Musketeers, Aramis made himself as comfortable as he could in a chair by the boy’s bed, determined to keep his vigil.

++++

*Several days later*

“D’Artagnan, you’ve got color back in your cheeks,” Captain Treville said as he came upon his son watching his friends spar. 

“I’m feeling more like myself thanks to Aramis’s quick thinking.” D’Artagnan pointed to his three friend’s fencing in the courtyard. “My babysitter’s are keeping tabs on me and won’t allow me to tax my strength just yet.”

“Have you heard that Guischard is no longer a lieutenant?” Treville asked gruffly. “Being unprofessional in his treatment of you.”

“I hope you don’t make a habit of doing that every time something bad happens to me,” d’Artagnan warned softly so no one else could hear.

“I did some checking up on the man. Seems like he’s had it in for you from day one.” Treville remembered the dressing down he gave the man along with the demotion. “He was jealous and always went out of his way to make life in the Guards difficult for you. If we were truly short of men I could understand his order that night but we weren’t. That plus the other things are what led me to my decision.” Treville sat down beside his son. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“If I can’t fight my own battles I have no business in trying to become a Musketeer,” d’Artagnan announced plainly. For the rest, he decided to hold his tongue.

“Something’s come up and I may need your help shortly.” Treville eyed the boy carefully. “Athos says you're nearly fit for action again,” he smiled wryly, “despite their mother-henning you to death.”

“Of course,” d’Artagnan retorted as if there were no doubt about it.

“We have the notorious criminal Vadim currently locked up in the bastille. But we’d like to put someone in undercover to find out where his stockpile of gun powder he’s been hiding and other weapons are stashed.”

“Where would I fit in?”

“You’re new to the garrison and not known to Vadim or his men,” Treville’s tone was grim and he wondered if he should even consider throwing his son into the same cell with that cutthroat. “If we could get you inside with him perhaps you can get the man to loosen his tongue to trust you enough to unintentionally spill some of his secrets.”

“Do they know?” D’Artagnan with a tilt of his head indicated his three friends.

“They’ll go along with this if I make it an order,” Treville glanced at his son’s profile trying hard not to compare it to the boy’s real mother. “The Cardinal is also in support of this plan.”

“If that’s the case I have the perfect idea to get me in trouble and locked up,” d’Artagnan grinned over at his father’s curious face.

“Go on, son.”

“Pick a fight and get caught having an illegal duel.”

“Excellent!”

“I don’t relish telling them that though” D’Artagnan cringed at having to face Athos’s negative response. Knowing there’d be arguments. He couldn’t be sure if Porthos or Aramis would go along with him either, but usually they encouraged him with anything he wanted to try.

“Don’t worry. That’s my job.”

++++

*A few more days go by*

*After d’Artagnan takes off on horseback following Vadim after the breakout*

“Still think he was the right man for the job?” Athos nearly snarled in anger at his captain. He had thought both he and the boy had lost their minds on such a risky plan.

“That tears it,” Porthos said. “If the captain were related to the lad I doubt he’d have put him into this situation.” He stared at Aramis’s thoughtful expression.

“You’re probably right.”

“Mon dieu! The fool boy’s going to get himself killed,” Athos spat, brushing past his friends.

“I think he’s upset,” Aramis nudged Porthos with an elbow while the bigger man grunted in displeasure.

++++

*Meeting D’Artagnan at the Bonacieux Home*

“Pull out. You’ve done enough,” Athos urged, both hands resting on the youngster’s slim shoulders.

“Trust me,” d’Artagnan’s eyes implored. “I can do this.”

After their youngest left their presence, the men sipped their wine. Athos was more than concerned. “Tell me we did the right thing?”

++++

*After the explosions in the tunnel*

“So you are alive.” Athos felt like boxing the child’s ears for making him worry to death.

“Think so.” D’Artagnan tried for a smile but failed as he looked at Athos’s stern face.

“Vadim?” Aramis questioned.

“Wounded,” d’Artagnan showed them his bloodied sword, “badly.”

Following the trail of jewels and blood to where Vadim lay dying, they all stood around the criminal.

“Was a good trick. Should have worked.”

Kneeling, d’Artagnan’s voice was low as he spoke. “It nearly did.”

When d’Artagnan stood back up he suddenly started to sway like a drunken sailor.

“Oh nonononono!” Aramis moaned as he rushed to the boy’s side. “Not again!”

TBC


	13. Commodities Can Sometimes Come at Too High a Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonnaire escapes taking d'Artagnan with him and things go from bad to worse for our boy.  
> This is the first time I have done a story where I place a male lead in this type of jeopardy.  
> This chapter turned out to be quite long and I'm still not done with it so have I've split it up.  
> What d'Art goes through will not be graphically depicted in the next chapter as I'm not comfortable writing that type of story and not experienced enough to pull it off. So you will just use your mental caps to fill in the blanks. Don't worry, our boy comes out all right in the end. On to the story...

*Garrison Infirmary*

“Our d’Artagnan’s all patched up,” Aramis was tired after treating the stubborn Gason of the injuries he sustained during the Vadim fiasco. The boy actually scoffed at him, trying to brush them off as minor.

Picking up the boy’s wrists, which were red, raw and swollen from the rope burns d’Artagnan received when frantically trying to escape being trussed up to all that gunpowder, Athos carefully examined Aramis’s work. “No sword play for at least a week until these heal, if not longer.”

“Athos!” The sharp retort d’Artagnan was about to offer died a swift death at the glare the Musketeer gave him. Hanging his head, he mumbled, “I concede defeat among older and wiser heads than mine.”

“Whose older and wiser?” Porthos seemed genuinely wanting to know which made the boy laugh, which was what he intended all along.

“Only where your welfare is concerned, boy, do we take great care.” Athos whispered and placed a kiss on top of d’Artagnan’s head. “We could have lost you,” his voice grew shaky.

Blinking up at his friend, d’Artagnan leaned into the warmth of the man’s hug. “All right. I guess I was hurt more than I made out.”

“Scrapes, burns, mutilated wrists, mild concussion,” Porthos shook his head. “We’ll have to toughen you up like me.”

“Porthos, my great big friend,” Aramis slapped the dark skinned man on the back. “There is only one of you and you’re unique as it is.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Porthos laughed along with the others.

++++

*One month later - on the road to Paris*

“AMBUSH!” d’Artagnan yelled out as men came out of the woods to surround them.

Smiling, Emile Bonnaire doesn’t seemed very surprised. Holding out his arms wide, he gazed at his jailors. “Gentlemen, my fan club awaits and I would hate to disappoint them.” Getting out of the wagon he jumps on a horse provided by one of his men.

“By the way, I thank you for keeping me safe on this oh so short journey, and I’m sorry to deprive you all of my company.”

“I’m sure you are,” Athos returned dryly. He was furious with himself that he didn’t see this coming.

“I’ve always been a cautious man,” Bonnaire grinned, “so just to make sure you delightful men don’t take it in to your heads to follow me I think I’ll take some insurance along,” he looked straight at d’Artagnan’s hostile face. “You’ll do quite nicely.”

Three cries of outrage were heard coming from the Musketeer contingent. 

“Oh but yes,” Bonnaire nodded to his men. “Take him.”

Athos noted their youngest started to fight back but was overpowered and it took three men to get the struggling boy trussed up and settled on a horse led from a lead by one of the ruffians. “Bonnaire, I swear by all that’s holy if you harm one hair on d’Artagnan’s head you will feel the cold steel of my blade through your black heart.”

That ever ready smile Bonnaire wore slipped slightly at Athos’s threat. “No need to put the fear of God into me, my good man. I’ll release him once I reach my ship.”

“I’ll be fine, Athos,” d’Artagnan made eye contact with the older Musketeer.

Watching them take the youngster away, Aramis and Porthos surrounded their leader.

“That’s it! You’re letting them go with d’Artagnan?” Aramis was beside himself with righteous anger.

“Well I ain’t standin’ for it!” Porthos growled and would have taken off like a bat out of hell after them if it weren’t for the strong, steady grip on his arm that stopped him.

“Don’t!” Athos warned. “Bonnaire may very well have d’Artagnan’s throat slit if he spies us on their tail.”

“At least we know where he’s headin’,” Porthos said.

“Yes, he slipped up when he was talking to you about his ventures,” Athos agreed. “I know a different route to Calais.” Tugging on the reigns of his horse and with one last look in the direction they took d’Artagnan, Athos signaled for the others to follow his direction.

“I know one thing,” Aramis said. “I won’t be able to face the captain if d’Artagnan ends up hurt again.”  
++++

*Hours later - It is now evening and Bonnaire’s party have arrived at the port in Calais where his shipped is docked*

“This is where we’ll part ways, my boy,” Bonnaire patted d’Artagnan’s leg as he still sat astride his mount.

“Can’t say I’ve enjoyed your company,” d’Artagnan smiled grimly.

“Ah! Gascon humor,” Bonnaire chuckled, admiring the lad’s courage.

“Bonnaire!” Members of the crew called out to him in greeting.

“Get the boy off that beast and take him to the nearest tavern where his friends will find him,” Bonnaire ordered his men.

“I don’t think so,” a voice called out in the darkness.

Squinting, Bonnaire made out a large figure coming toward him. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“Making sure my cargo makes it safely out.”

“They’re aboard then?” Bonnaire knew the man spoke of the slaves that he was to transport for him.

“Aye! Gerard Laperriere looked over at d’Artagnan appreciatively. “The boy will bring a fine price on the auction block.”

“What?” Bonnaire seemed confused. “No no, my friend! He was my bargaining chip with the Musketeers who were taking me back to Paris under duress. I told them he’d be fine as long as they didn’t come after me.”  
Barking orders, Laperriere had his own men drag d’Artagnan off the horse and put aboard the ship.

“There’s no need for this!” Bonnaire hissed.

“The boy’s just another commodity. What do you care?” Laperriere snarled and walked up the gang plank.

++++

*Inside the ship’s hold*

Hanging from chains attached to the ceiling, d’Artagnan’s arms ached from the strain.

Laperriere came in and looked his fill. Coming over to the youngster, he grabbed d’Artagnan’s chin in his one hand and gently ran his finger down one side of his cheek with the other. Seeing the repulsion written on the child’s face, Laperriere laughed. “Better get used to it.”

“When my friends get here you’ll be begging for mercy,” d’Artagnan spit in his face.

Wiping the spittle from his own face, Laperriere snarled. “I think you need to get some of that spunk beaten out of you.” Grabbing a whip from where it was housed, Laperriere turned and smiled at the boy. “This is a special whip. It’s used to keep our slaves in line without marring the skin. Still, it hurts like the very devil. I don’t want to mark you for your future owner,” he grinned. “I can’t say I won’t enjoy this.” He laughed as the boy flinched before he had even touched him. “I wonder how many times it will take to tame you into submission.”

If Athos had been there to hear d’Artagnan’s cries of pain, he would have murdered Laperriere on the spot. The flogging continued for a very long time.

++++

*Arriving at the docks in Calais*

“Finally,” Aramis exclaimed. “Took long enough.”

“Let’s go grab Bonnaire off that ship of his and make him tell us where our lad is.” Porthos wanted badly to bash in that man’s skull.

“If Bonnaire kept to his promise he probably left d’Artagnan off at the local tavern,” Athos surmised.

“So we check that out first,” Aramis and the others left the docks to go search for their young protégé.

++++

*A frustrated trio...*

Storming out of their fourth tavern, the Musketeers headed back down to the docks and Bonnaire’s ship.

“D’Artagnan has to be aboard,” Porthos growled.

“Then Bonnaire lied,” Aramis glanced at Athos’s grim face.

“No surprise there then,” Athos offered. “Stealth will be required to board her and dispatch anyone in our way.”

“Allons-y, my friends.” Aramis as well as the other two unsheathed their swords and daggers.

++++

The Musketeers made short work of the few men they encountered that were on deck. They made their way below deck carefully and then Porthos had an idea.

“I bet they have our boy down in the orlop.”

“I know you don’t like to boast of your pirate days, Porthos, but what the deuce is an orlop?” Aramis smiled, waiting for his explanation.

“It’s the lowest deck in a ship that has four or more decks to it, which this one has.” 

“Ah! Thank you,” Aramis grinned. “Then that’s where we shall go.”

And following Porthos that is indeed where they went, hoping to hear sounds of their young one. Hearing two men coming their way they quickly ducked behind some huge crates. The conversation they overheard chilled their bones.

“Why did they bring that boy on board?”

“He’s a comely lad. What do you think?”

“Well Laperriere whipped him into submission. I thought they liked their cargo unmarked.”

“Boy’s a handful I guess.”

After they passed by the three friends looked sick to their stomachs.

“Split up! Find d’Artagnan!” Athos furiously ordered, casting Bonnaire and this Laperriere person to the deepest pits of hell. He would gladly send them there personally.

++++

Sounds of moaning reached Aramis’s ears first. It came from one of the holding cells he just passed. Whistling softly he signaled the others to join him.

Reaching for the door with a trembling hand, Athos easily opened it since it was not locked. His blood ran cold at what he found.

The boy was hanging limply from chains connected to the ceiling. “Mon dieu! D’Artagnan, child, wake up.” No response from the boy came and dread filled him. “One of you grab that key on the wall. It has to unlock these chains.

Porthos immediately did that and freed the youngster from his prison. 

Aramis helped Athos gently lay d’Artagnan down on his stomach so he could examine the boy’s back. “No marks,” he glanced up at Athos. “They used a special whip on him. These would be quite painful to the touch and he’ll need immediate medical attention.”

“Laperriere better make his peace with whatever God he worships,” Athos spat, “his days are about to end!”

“Not... Bonnaire’s idea,” d’Artagnan managed to whisper.

“Shoosh, we’ll get you home soon.” When Athos reached out a hand to touch the boy’s head, d’Artagnan flinched. He could see the pain filled eyes were not really seeing him but someone else.

Seeing Aramis cross himself, Athos frowned and lightly slapped the man’s arm. “None of that. D’Artagnan’s strong. He’ll pull through.”

“I was thanking God that we found him alive,” Aramis said.

“You and Porthos get him out of here now,” Athos ordered, “before we’re discovered.”

“What about you?” Porthos observed several dark expressions cross Athos’s face.

“To get satisfaction for him.”

It didn’t take long to register what Athos meant, and both men went about their business of getting the youngster to safety.

++++

Discovering where Gerard Laperriere was didn’t take much effort after overhearing another conversation between two sailors. So Athos snuck into the man’s quarters quietly. Laperriere’s back was towards him. Tapping him on the back with his blade, Athos announced his intentions when the slaver turned around in stunned surprise. “Prepare to die!”

He didn’t even give time for Laperriere to reach for his musket that lay on the bed. Athos dispatched the man quickly. His blade ran through what stood for the slaver’s heart.

On his way out Athos managed to locate Bonnaire as well. “Once again you’re under arrest. Count yourself lucky I’m sparing your life. Not so with Laperriere.”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to that boy.”

“You didn’t stop it from occurring either,” Athos snapped.

Pushing the man ahead of him, Athos and Bonnaire walked down the plank to the docks below.

“We procured a wagon to take d’Artagnan home in and this way Aramis can treat the boy’s back.” Porthos explained, casting menacing glances Bonnaire’s way. “Why’s he still breathin’?”

“Because d’Artagnan said he wasn’t responsible,” Athos shoved Bonnaire into Porthos’s arms then. Walking away he went over to Aramis. “I can tell by your face something else is amiss.”

“Athos, the way he tries to cower away from any touch,” Aramis couldn’t look him in the eye any longer.

Grabbing the man by the arm, Athos shook it. “Speak plainly, man!”

“D’Artagnan’s developed a fever and kept telling imaginary people to quit touching him,” Aramis’s eyes were haunted at what that could mean.

Fisting both hands, Athos wished he could kill Laperriere over again.

“Aramis, attend to d’Artagnan and pray that *touching* was all that was accomplished."

Watching Aramis crawl into the back of the wagon, Athos stomped over to where Bonnaire sat in front with Porthos. Dragging the man off until he landed on the ground at his feet, Athos kicked the man in the side. “What the hell did Laperriere do to d’Artagnan?”

Shaken, Bonnaire stared up at the Musketeer. “You mean aside from the beating?”

“You are not a stupid man,” Athos acknowledged, “fill in the blanks.”

“I wasn’t down there with them when they first brought the boy aboard,” Bonnaire sighed despondently. “Laperriere’s appetite’s run to young, handsome boys or so I’m told.” Getting back on his feet, he was grabbed roughly from behind by Porthos who hauled him back up to sit beside him.

“Pray, Monsieur, pray very hard that d’Artagnan did not suffer that indignity to his person,” Athos left Bonnaire alone then and went to join Aramis in the back of the wagon.

“The salve I’m using should mend the boy’s back in time,” Aramis kept his eye on d’Artagnan’s breathing because he gave the youngster something to make him sleep.

“Yes,” Athos said deeply, “but what will mend his soul?”

TBC


	14. Some Nightmares Are Best Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All our boys come home. Treville is furious of course, d'Art gets his back treated again and then confession time.

*On the road back to Paris*

Porthos guided the wagon carefully over the rough terrain so as not to cause d’Artagnan anymore discomfort that possible. “How’s our boy doing, Aramis?”

“Holding his own for now,” Aramis diligently worked on the youngster’s back with Athos grimly by his side. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, Athos. None of us could do a damn thing when Bonnaire took d’Artagnan hostage.”

“I know that,” Athos laid a hand on the unconscious boy’s head. If he could remember any prayers he had been taught as a child he would have used them now. But it’s been a very long time since he had. When he stopped to think about it he had begun his descent into hell the day he had murdered his wife.

“I know d’Artagnan isn’t a Musketeer yet but I do hope the king won’t let this go unpunished.” Aramis swore as he felt the boy’s head.

“What?” Athos stared at him.

“Fever’s getting worse. Wet me more of those towels please.”

Athos did as was ordered and handed them to his friend. He still had half a mind to take Bonnaire somewhere no one would find him and run him through with his sword. None of this would have happened to their young one if that explorer hadn’t taken the boy. He continued to watch as Aramis carefully treated d’Artagnan’s back.

++++

*Hours later they arrive in Paris and the garrison*

Shoving Bonnaire off his seat, Porthos went around to the back of the wagon, knowing Athos was taking care of the trader. Opening the flap he peered inside. “Want me to carry him to the infirmary for you?”

“Only if you can do it without touching his injuries,” Aramis warned.

“I know how to be careful,” Porthos snapped.

“Sorry. Sorry. Don’t mean to be testy,” Aramis apologized. “It’s just been a long ride full of worries for me.”

“I know,” Porthos answered softly. He gently, almost tenderly picked the boy up in his arms and took him away.

“Athos, you need me to see Treville with you?”

“No, Aramis, go get cleaned up and rested,” Athos had a tight grip on Bonnaire’s arm. “If I know you, you’re going to go right up in that infirmary giving orders.”

“Yes, yes,” Aramis waved Athos’s words away and headed for his own apartment.

++++

*Captain Treville’s Office*

“What in God’s name took you so long?” Treville walked over to the two men.

“Sir, the news is not pretty,” Athos said and proceeded to inform his captain of what had transpired these days past. It was not totally a surprise to him as the features on the older man’s face tightened into a mask of fury. What did come as a surprise were Treville’s next actions.

Tearing Bonnaire from Athos’s strong grip, Treville had the tip of his sword against the man’s heart. “I’d run you through now and save the taxpayers the money of an execution if it weren’t for the fact that would get me thrown in the bastille as well.”

Throwing the man back at Athos, Treville growled. “Get that scum out of here! I’ll first check on d’Artagnan and then report to the king.”

Pushing the shocked Bonnaire ahead of him, Athos knew right in that moment what d’Artagnan meant to his captain.

++++

*Garrison Infirmary*

“How is he?” Captain Treville stood beside the medic who had been monitoring d’Artagnan since he had been brought in.

“Aramis came by and briefed me on what had been done to him and gave me this salve to treat the wounds.”

“I don’t see any marks on his back,” Treville was genuinely puzzled as to the extent of his son’s injuries.

“A whip was used,” the medic explained. “One that is used on special slaves that will not leave a mark on the body,” his look was dire. “Whoever did this worked on d’Artagnan for a long time.”

“Tell me the minute he regains consciousness.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Treville left the building to go see the King Louis, he bumped into his three best men in the courtyard. “Athos, Bonnaire?”

“In the bastille for the present.”

“We were just going to see how the lad is doin’” Porthos offered.

“Athos, would I have to make it an order for you to come with me as I go speak to the king about what happened?”

“I would rather be with d’Artagnan but if you make it an order I can not disobey.”

“When you put it that way,” Treville shook his head. He knew if he couldn’t be with his son he’d rather have Athos with the boy. “Oh go on with the lot of you.”

++++

*Garrison Infirmary*

“Will you stay down?” the medic ordered, though d’Artagnan was doing the opposite of his commands. 

Struggling to sit up, d’Artagnan moaned softly. “I’ve got to report to the captain.”

“He was already here and knows everything that happened,” the medic told him.

Just then the three inseparables came through the door.

“What do you think you are doing?” Aramis quickly moved to the youngster’s swaying side. “You are by far the most stubborn...”

“No need to finish,” d’Artagnan whispered, his voice weakening for a moment. “Us Gascon’s are all stubborn.”

The child’s remark had everyone in the room laughing until Aramis reached out to check the boy’s back and flinched away as if his friend was going to hurt him.

“It’s all right,” Aramis spoke softly as one would with a small, hurt child or injured animal. Backing away, he held up both hands. “See... not touching.”

He couldn’t look any of the men in the face as he got off the bed. “I’m going back to my lodgings and rest there.”

“You’re in no condition to be by yourself,” Athos said as he got close enough to the boy. But the reaction he got from d’Artagnan was quite unexpected. 

“Please just stay away from me!” d’Artagnan shouted and, considering his weakened state, ran out the door and down the steps without looking back.

“Shouldn’t we go after the lad?” Porthos was more than worried.

“We have to find out what the deuce happened on board that ship!” Aramis nearly shouted until Athos glared at him. 

“I agree but let’s not let any cats escape from the bag just yet,” Athos eyed the medic who stood silently off to one side.

“Er, yes. Sorry, Athos.” Aramis looked at the concerned medic. “We’ll just go follow the boy home and take care of him there.”

“All right, but if d’Artagnan needs anything just let me know.”

“Our thanks,” Porthos added as they all left.

++++

*The Bonacieux’s house*

“Madame?” Athos and the others stepped inside the kitchen to see Constance beside the sink throwing dishes into it as if she was mad at someone.”

“Oh fine!” she yelled. “Now you come!” she stamped her small foot. “What happened to him? Did he do something stupid again?”

“Oh my! Someone’s a little upset?” Aramis murmured, his eyes twinkling. He knew sparks flew between her and their youngest every time they were together. Shame that she was married. Though he never had any scruples where that was concerned, but he knew d’Artagnan wasn’t brought up that way. Nor did he believe Constance had either.

“Our trip did not go as planned,” Athos remarked. “Let’s leave it at that for now.”

“He rushed past me without even a hello and straight into his room,” she muttered as she started to wash the dirty dishes.

“I want to do this alone, gentlemen.” Athos didn’t even bother to wait for his friend’s to try and argue the matter. He went straight into d’Artagnan’s room without knocking.

Scowling at his uninvited visitor, d’Artagnan gingerly sat on his bed. “I don’t need any babysitters.”

“We want to know what else happened on that ship before you were cruelly flogged,” Athos’s voice brooked no further argument on that score. He was a determined man.

Scrunching his face up in pain, d’Artagnan stared at the floor as if it held all the answers. “I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“Please... just leave.”

The moment Athos stepped closer to the boy, d’Artagnan scrambled off the bed clear on the other side to get away from him. “Your actions are troubling to me. All manner of things come to mind, child. Please, at least talk to me.”

“It’s shameful,” tears filled the boy’s eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “Athos, I feel unclean.”

“Mon dieu!” Athos was afraid this is what the boy would say. “Can you speak on it at all?”

With his back turned on his friend, d’Artagnan described what happened when he was first taken aboard Bonnaire’s ship. “They took me to a cabin and tied me down on a bed,” he sniffed. “Uh, there were four of them. Laperriere and his men.”

“Go on, child,” Athos coaxed, wanting to but dreading to hear the youngster’s tale.

“They kept touching me all over my body,” d’Artagnan voice thickened with more tears that he refused to let fall.“Telling me how beautiful I was. What a price I would bring on the block. They even tried to kiss me, but I wasn’t having any of that and struggled so much they eventually knocked me out.”

“So other than that and the flogging you sustained...” Athos couldn’t finish.

“Ah! I am not as naive as you imagine an eighteen year old from Gascon could be,” d’Artagnan tried for a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “They did not defile me in the manner of which you are thinking,” he hung his head. “But it was bad enough,” d’Artagnan muttered so softly it came out as a whisper of breath. “The way I’m feeling at this exact moment is not promising, Athos.”

“How so?”

“I can’t stand to be near any man. What good would I be in a fight?”

“Time will take care of that. Time and your friends. Of that I’ve no doubt.” Athos took a tentative step toward his friend. “Yes, there will be nightmares that will best be forgotten but you will overcome them,” he waved his hand in the air as if that was of little importance. 

“When you are fully recovered,” Athos said and noted the swift glare he received from the boy, “and I know that you will. All of us, and I do mean all, are going to have a talk about your relationship with our captain.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” d’Artagnan pretended innocence.

“I, Aramis and Porthos have all noticed there is something between you and Treville. Whether you knew coming here or found out after your arrival,” Athos sighed, “it is not something that can be kept secret for long. Trust me when I say this - it will and can be used against you and us.”

“Ever since I’ve come here life has gotten so damn complicated!” d’Artagnan sat back down on his bed.

“You think being a Musketeer is less complicated also?” Athos smiled. “It’s worse.”

TBC


	15. An Understanding Woman and Rebellious Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Comtesse and company meets d'Artagnan.

*Captain Treville’s Office*

“So,” Treville sighed as he stared down at the papers on his desk, “what do you suggest, Athos?”

“I think,” Athos said slowly, “for the time being at least, perhaps d’Artagnan should go on a nice, boring assignment away from all of this.” Not sure how much of this Treville will understand, Athos pressed on. “Until he starts to feel like his old self.”

“In other words, until he can stand most of us surrounding him without the boy shuddering away.” Standing up, Treville walked around his desk to stand toe to toe with Athos. “Right now, d’Artagnan’s not much use around here. Isn’t that what you’re so politely trying to say?”

“He’s a Gascon, young that’s true,” Athos acknowledged. “But he will bounce back,” he said fiercely. “I’m positive on that score, sir.”

“I agree with you.” Treville walked over to a window and stared down into the courtyard where his other Musketeers were practicing. “I believe I have the perfect place.”

“May I enquire as to what and where it is?”

“No you may not,” Treville smiled. “For now it will remain my secret. When I believe the time is right I will tell you and you can go retrieve d’Artagnan.”

“Dare I hope that wherever you are sending him that he will not be going totally alone?”

“He will have an escort who will be sworn to secrecy,” Treville knew Athos wasn’t pleased at this. The scowl alone the other man wore was a dead giveaway. “Do you honestly think that I don’t know what you three would get up too if you knew where I was sending my s-,” he caught himself just in time before he gave away his secret, “er, d’Artagnan.”

“You know us only too well, Captain. Though I did not mean to exclude myself, Aramis or Porthos from the boy's protection." Athos disliked sending their young one away without them covering d'Artagnan's back. His friends would give him grief over this once he told them later. “I will take my leave now and explain to the others what you have in mind.”

Watching Athos leave, Treville hastily wrote a letter and had it sent out by special messenger. If nothing else goes wrong, it should arrive well before his son gets to his destination.

++++

*The Bonacieux’s house*

Watching the boy pack, Aramis and Porthos wanted to start unpacking the child’s things. As far as they were concerned it was preposterous that d’Artagnan was being allowed to leave them after what had just befallen the youngster.

“It’s not right,” Porthos growled to Aramis.

Crossing himself, Arams said a quick prayer to Saint Christopher to guide d’Artagnan to his destination safely, wherever it would be. “Nothing we can do about it by orders of our captain and you know it.”

“Can’t believe Athos is goin’ along with this plan,” Porthos rough voice carried over to where d’Artagnan was still packing.

“I do not need babysitters,” d’Artagnan announced without turning around to look at his two friends.

“After what recently happened to you, it would take more than babysitters to keep you from serious injury,” Athos couldn’t help but get emotional when he and the others had fought for the boy to not die on them from the flogging he had endured while waiting for rescue.

Holding up a hand, d’Artagnan turned to face all three Musketeers. “I’m not stupid, as Constance seems to think,” he sighed deeply. “I know this is Captain Treville’s way of sending me off to heal in body and soul.” As the three men stepped closer to him, d’Artagnan stepped back four paces at least. “See what I mean,” he frowned. “I’m no good to anyone in this condition.”

Athos knew the child was right but he was in a damnable position! He wanted to wrap d’Artagnan up in cotton wool. Hide him away from the rest of the world’s cruel atrocities that he knew were out there waiting to fall on an unsuspecting boy from Gascony. But, he had to keep reminding himself that d’Artagnan was not his little brother Thomas. Sometimes though as he watched the child sleeping, it was hard not to make comparisons.

“All right. I’m all packed. All I need do now is go to the captain to find out where I’m being sent.” D’Artagnan stared at his friends concerned faces. “Please, if you honor me at all, do not follow.”

“We promise,” Porthos said gruffly. Wanting nothing more than to wrap d’Artagnan up in a bear hug before he left them.

“I have something for you,” Aramis pulled out a chain from his jacket pocket. On the end dangled an image of a saint. Placing it reverently in the boy’s hands, he stepped away from d’Artagnan.

“Saint Christopher,” d’Artagnan smiled with genuine affection at Aramis who he knew was destined for the church someday. “My mother is constantly praying to him whenever father and I would travel to nearby villages to sell our crops,” he grinned. “My thanks, Aramis.”

“I doubt that even Saint Christopher can protect our boy from all the evils of the world out there,” Athos murmured so only Aramis would hear him.

“Perhaps I should have visited our local church and asked for a medal of a saint that protects young fools?” Aramis enquired of his older friend, trying not to laugh at the expression that crossed Athos’s face.

Ignoring Aramis, Athos was the first to follow the boy out the door after he bid his farewells to Constance. 

“Gentlemen, this is where we part for now,” d’Artagnan knew that he’d miss there company, but it was better for all concerned to do it this way. His father knew what he was about.

“Be safe,” Athos nodded.

“May our Lord protect you,” Aramis said solemnly.

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” Porthos grinned.

“Porthos, really?” Athos glared at his huge friend.

Actually laughing, d’Artagnan waved goodbye and walked over to see his father to get his orders.

++++

*Captain Treville’s Office*

Staring at the piece of paper in his hand, d’Artagnan seemed puzzled. “You’re sending me to the village of Ouradour-sur-Glane, near Limoges,” he frowned. “Why there?”

“Because that is where Ninon De Larroque is,” Treville smiled. “You do remember her don’t you, son?”

“Indeed,” d’Artagnan nodded. “Formerly Comtesse who the Cardinal stripped of all her lands and possession in exchange for her life,” he shook his head. “So this is where she was banished to.”

“Yes, I think it amused the Cardinal to send her to someplace obscure. According to him Ninon always acted like she was above the laws and conventions of regular society.”

“So this was his way of humbling her?”

“Indeed,” Treville winced. “Harsh, though it is Ninon has acquitted herself quite well.”

“How so?”

“We still have to keep tabs on her from time to time. She told Athos that she would establish a school for the daughters of the poor, using the small income the Cardinal sends her.”

“And I am to assume there are no men around the place?” D’Artagnan instantly realized why his father was sending him to Ninon.

“If there are they are few.” Walking over to the boy, Treville reached out to touch him on the shoulder which was not one of his wisest moves to date as he noticed his son nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Sorry, sorry,” d’Artagnan whispered softly. “I’m still jittery.”

“Hence the reason I’m sending you away,” Treville was sad but understood that if he didn’t do this now d’Artagnan may very well end up going back to Lupiac and the arms of his adopted parents. “Take great care, son.”

“I will.” That being said, the boy departed.

++++

*Village of Ouradour-sur-Glane, near Limoges*

Ninon had understood what Captain Treville had written in his letter to her. She prayed she could help the boy heal. Already she was disappointed to find out that Athos would not be attending as well. Ninon remembered well her meetings with the man. Even to go so far as to tell him that she had admired the handsome melancholy aspect of his face that had intrigued her so.

High-born and enlightened she may be, but the Cardinal had brought her low by doing this to her. But that man would never drag her down. Thinking about Athos once more, it really was a pity that neither of them were the marrying kind. She could have loved a man such as him, but he was done with romance and she still believed in it. Now marriage, that was a different curse she would never submit herself too nor would Athos. They were a match made in heaven or should that be - hell?

Gathering her thoughts together she looked at her calendar. By her reasoning d’Artagnan should be here within the day. She went away to make sure his room was already prepared.

++++

*Just outside the Village of Ouradour-sur-Glane*

D’Artagnan’s companions have finally left him to go back to the garrison since he was almost at the Comtesse’s school. He guessed he shouldn’t refer to her as that any longer. Probably the proper address would just be Mademoiselle. 

Seeing the school just up ahead, d’Artagnan brought his horse to a gallop. The quicker to get himself settled the better.

++++

Ninon stood waiting for the young man, along with several of her charges who were giggling like the school children they were.

Getting off his horse, d’Artagnan handed the reigns of his mount to a stable man. He signed as he had to contend that there were going to be at least a few other males around the place. Knowing he would just have to make the best of it, d’Artagnan slowly approached the lovely mademoiselle.

Bending low over her hand she had extended, d’Artagnan placed a chaste kiss upon it. “Mademoiselle, I am Charles d’Artagnan,” he nodded. “I assume you received the letter from my captain that I was coming?”

Taking the youngster by the arm, Ninon smiled. “Yes, and your room has already been prepared.”

“In the school?”

Allowing herself some light laughter at his surprise, Ninon nodded. “With the little the Cardinal sends my way I could ill afford a house of my own.”

“Oh, so you live here as well.”

“Along with the children, yes.” She could tell d’Artagnan’s mind was trying to wrap around what she told him. “Never fear, my young friend, all the proprieties will have been met.”

Clapping her hands, five young girls ranging from the ages of thirteen to seven gathered around d’Artagnan. “They have been charged with making sure you feel at home here.”

All the girls smiled shyly at him and introduced themselves with small curtseys. “Abrial and I’m thirteen.” Next - “Bernadette I’m ten.” Next again - “Desirea I’m eight.” And yet next - “Esme and I’m eleven.” Finally the littlest of the group walked up to him and whispered, “I’m Jacquetta and I just had a birthday.”

Bending low, d’Artagnan asked, “What age are you, Mademoiselle?” 

Giggling, she looked back at Ninon who in turn smiled her encouragement. “Seven.”

“Ah! A great age indeed,” d’Artagnan announced seriously. But then color filled his cheeks as he could hear laughter bubbling up in the other young ladies facing him. “Ummm,” d’Artagnan didn’t know quite what to say and ended up scratching his head which resulted in the children giggling and then reaching for his hands. And for once... he didn’t flinch.

TBC


	16. And Thee Shall Be Healed By Little Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan heals while Athos and Ninon remember they don't believe in marriage.

*Village of Ouradour-sur-Glane, Near Limoges - Ninon’s School*

Having let all five of the little girls lead him to his rooms, d’Artagnan then gave them all his most formal bow. They giggled in delight and curtseyed back in turn. “Ah! Mademoiselles,” he smiled his most charmingly at them, “it has been the greatest of pleasures to have been introduced to all of you.”

As the children turned away to go about their other chores, Ninon stepped inside the boy’s room. “Very nice,” she clapped her hands. “Your parents brought you up well.”

“I like to think so.” Placing his belongings on the bed, d’Artagnan turned to face her. “I’m supposed to report back to my captain how you’re getting along with everything here.” He threw down his gloves on the desk so hard that it made a slapping sound causing Ninon to jump unexpectedly. “But in reality this was just his way of an easy assignment to help me get a handle on my life again.”

“I know all that,” she said simply, holding up a letter in her right hand. “Captain Treville wrote me over a week ago, prior to your arrival.”

“Hmmpf!” d’Artagnan snorted. ‘Did he explain in detail what happened to me?”

“Not in so many words.”

“I had the misfortune to be taken hostage by the trader Bonnaire whom we were to have arrested.”

“I gather things did not go according to plan,” Ninon remarked dryly.

“Seems like nothing’s gone according to plan since I came to Paris,” d’Artagnan sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Do you feel comfortable enough with me to explain further?”

“Why not?” He laid down full length on the bed, eyes closed as he re-lived his nightmare. “Bonnaire was going to release me once we got to his ship. Not so his associate in the slave trade - Laperriere.”

Sitting down in a chair beside the bed, Ninon started running her hands gently through his hair. This used to comfort her younger brother whenever he couldn’t get to sleep.

Not opening his eyes at her ministrations, d’Artagnan smiled. ‘My mother used to do that very same thing all the time whenever I was ill or had nightmares.”

“Spoiled child.” Ninon did not so much ask a question as made it a statement.

“Only by her. Certainly not by father.” D’Artagnan remembered how it was being raised on the farm. His father wouldn’t let him get away with much.

Wanting to air out his dirty linen and be done with it, d’Artagnan continued his story. “Before they took me down into one of the ship’s holds to be whipped,” he stopped and opened his eyes briefly at the small sound of dismay that had escaped Ninon’s lips. “Do not worry, my back’s nearly healed now.” Closing his eyes once more, he felt Ninon place her hand once more in his hair. “Aramis makes a good nurse.”  
“Your friends probably feared for your life.”

“They did that. I was out of it for a long time afterwards. When I awoke they were greatly relieved,” d’Artagnan grinned. “That’s when I found out that they killed everyone that stood in their way to get to me. Especially Athos.”

“Athos?”

“Aramis told me that Athos ran his rapier straight through Laperriere’s cold heart.”

“Satisfaction and revenge all rolled into one,” Ninon’s voice sharp. “But were you insinuating that something prior to your whipping occurred.” 

Nodding his head, d’Artagnan started to turn his head away from her, but Ninon stopped that motion with a gentle touch to the side of his face. His eyes were mere slits now as he was halfway between wakefulness and slumber, but he needed to finish this now and get it off his chest. “I now understand what a woman means when she says she’s felt violated by some man.”

“Oh, d’Artagnan!” Ninon was horrified at what his words implied.

“They did not get that far though their hands were all over me,” d’Artagnan’s voice was beginning to slur with sleep. “Kept touching me in private places they had no right to touch.”

“Hush now, young one... rest.” Seeing that the boy finally fell into an exhausted sleep, Ninon stood up and gently placed a kiss on d’Artagnan’s forehead.”

++++

*Next day*

D’Artagnan slept a dreamless sleep the night before, not even attending dinner. So he was starved come breakfast. Wolfing the food down as quickly as it was set in front of him, the cook scolded him gently telling him he’d get a belly ache. Grinning, d’Artagnan held up his spoon and licked it clean. “Don’t worry about me. I’m still a growing boy,” he grinned. “According to my mother that is.”

“And mothers are always correct,” Ninon said as she joined him at the table.

“I wonder now that I’ve a full stomach if there is anything you need done around here that I can help with?”

Taking his hand in her own, Ninon smiled. “I believe the idea behind Captain Treville sending you to me was for you to rest and heal.”

“I’ll go crazy with nothing to do but lie about.”

“Did someone say they had nothing to do?” a giggling Bernadette poked her head into the kitchen.

“Go,” Ninon urged him. “Play, d’Artagnan. Remember what it was like to not have any cares.”

Standing up to follow Bernadette outside, he leaned down and whispered, “Please don’t let Athos or the others hear about this,” he frowned. “They already think I’m not long out of the school room.”

Stifling her amusement, Ninon nodded and went about her daily routine.

++++

*A week and a half later*

Esme and Desirea were breathless by the time they ran into the main room. “Ninon, Musketeers are here!” they cried out together.

Hoping in her heart to see her melancholy man again, Ninon went to greet her visitors.

++++

“The stable boys are taking care of our horses,” Aramis said while watching Porthos pour water from a well on his head.

“I was hot,” Porthos growled, daring his friend to say something.

“I wouldn’t, Aramis,” Athos warned with a shake of his finger in the other man’s face when he noticed Aramis was about to respond.

“You’re right,” Aramis sighed. “Not worth the hassle.”

“Athos!”

Hearing his name called softly in very educated tones, he turned instantly around and smiled at the lovely vision before him. Taking her hand, Athos placed a kiss on it. “Ninon, it is good to see you again.”

“I am pleased your captain sent you here this time.” Ninon remembered her manners as she acknowledged the other two Musketeers. “Monsieurs Aramis and Porthos, welcome to my school of learning for the daughters of the poor.”

“We are honored to be here, Mademoiselle,” Aramis swept off his hat bowing before her.

“Yeah. A right nice place you’ve got set up here,” Porthos offered with a grin.

“Thank you both.” Ninon waved them to follow her inside.

“Are you just checking on young d’Artagnan or is it time for him to go back?”

“A little of both.” Athos paused, anything else he was about to say fled his mind as he heard sounds of childish laughter coming from behind the school. He thought one voice sounded familiar.

Holding a fingertip to her lips, Ninon led the trio to the play area in back.

There the men saw the boy they had all grown to know and love. The youngster was playing games with five of Ninon’s charges.

“D’Art!” Jacquetta whined, “I thought you promised I could ride piggy back.”

“Jacqui,” as d’Artagnan had been calling her lately, “jump on,” he ordered in exasperation. As the little seven year old climbed up his back, he grabbed hold of her small legs and ran around the yard with him pretending to be her horse.

“Did she just call him d’Art?” Aramis’s eyebrows shot up.

“It suits him,” Porthos laughed. “That boy’s always darting about.”

“I agree,” Athos smiled.

“My turn,” Desirea jumped up and down in excitement.

Rolling his eyes, d’Artagnan obliged her as well. “Rea, what did you have for breakfast this morning? You’re a bit heavier than last time,” he teased as she pulled on his hair.

The older girls wanted to have d’Artagnan play with them as well. “When you’re done come play hide and seek with us,” Abrial suggested.

“That used to be one of my favorite games, Abby,” d’Artagnan winked at her, as Desirea climbed off his back. “I suppose I have to hunt you all down?”

“Yes!” All the girls shouted in unison.

“Bernie, Esme, why are you two just standing there,” d’Artagnan laughed as they rushed off to hide as well. He hid his face against a nearby tree and started to count until he was interrupted.

“Is this an exclusive club or can anyone join?” Aramis quipped.

“Aramis!” D’Artagnan cried with joy and approached him without reservation to enfold him in a warm embrace.

Staring in surprise at Athos over the boy’s shoulder, Aramis hugged the boy back enthusiastically.

“My turn.” Porthos shoved Aramis aside, picked up d’Artagnan easily and nearly crushed the boy in his arms as he too hugged him.

Pushing Athos forward, Ninon whispered in his ear. “Go on. You know you want too.”

Lips quirking as Athos tried to hide his smile, he slowly walked over to the boy.

Tears stood in d’Artagnan’s eyes as he gazed at the man he most wanted to emulate. “Athos,” he said quietly.

“Am I to wait forever to greet you properly, pup?”

Both men held onto each other for a few minutes until Athos pulled away first, holding the child an arm lengths away to study the changes in him. Which were quite apparent to his trained eye. That spark was back in the youngster, and he believed those children were a large part of d’Artagnan’s recuperation.

“Am I to leave with you today then?” D’Artagnan actually found himself sorry he had to go. The peace and quiet of this school had latched onto his soul. Well maybe it wasn’t peaceful here all the time what with the school girls all over the place chattering here and there. All doing their best to include him in their activities.

“Ninon, how has he really been lately?” Athos watched as the boy caught up with gossip as Aramis and Porthos surrounded him.

“At first d’Artagnan wouldn’t go near our stable hands since they were men. But slowly the children brought him out of himself to a better place and next thing I knew he was in the barn pitching hay with the men.”

“Words can not express...” Athos couldn’t finish his sentence because Ninon placed her finger on his lips.

“I was happy I was in a position to lend a hand.” She glanced away from him to watch as d’Artagnan introduced the children to the other two Musketeers.

Shrieks of laughter met her ears as Porthos gave all the girls piggy back rides.

“Better his back than mine,” Aramis grinned.

“Athos, do I pack now?” D’Artagnan had re-joined his mentor and friend.

Clapping the boy on the shoulder, Athos nodded and watched him race away.

“Still done with romance, Monsieur?”

“Still a rebellious woman?”

They both laughed at each other.

“Perhaps one day, Athos, you could retire here.”

“Is that an offer, Mademoiselle?”

“Take it anyway you would like,” she murmured.

“I still believe marriage to be a curse.”

Putting her hand underneath his chin, Ninon turned his face toward hers. “So do I.” She kissed him passionately, oblivious to the others around them.

++++

“Will you come back, d’Artagnan?” Abrial asked, tears running down her cheeks.

“I will try. In the meantime I will write you all and expect long letters from each of you in return.” D’Artagnan’s own eyes watered as each youngster kissed him goodbye.

Saving Ninon for last, d’Artagnan stood in front of her. “What do I say?”

Ninon kissed him on the cheek and ran her finger down it lightly. “I think in another lifetime we were sister and brother.”

“You know I felt that very same connection but shook it off as a flight of fancy.”

“Trust your instincts, d’Artagnan. They’ll never let you down and perhaps even save your life.”

“I’ve been trying to drum that into his stubborn, Gascon head since day one,” Athos commented wryly as he had watched the two of them say their farewells.

“I bid you adieu, Ninon, before Athos embarrasses me any further.”

“Be well, d’Artagnan,” Ninon waved goodbye.

After all four men mounted their horses and started to leave, they all turned in their saddles for one last glimpse of the sad faces watching their departure.

Athos waved once more at Ninon as he followed the others back to Paris.

TBC


	17. All For One and One For All!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving home d'Artagnan must inform his friends of his secret.

*Musketeer Garrison*

Captain Treville was waiting impatiently for his men as they rode into the garrison courtyard. Watching as they dismounted, he kept a close eye on one in particular. “It went well, d’Artagnan?”

“Oui,” d’Artagnan smiled shyly, “it did.” He glanced at his three grinning companions but his gaze was held and captured by Athos’s twinkling blue eyes. “For some more than others.”

Shooting the boy a warning look that said - *we will talk later*, “Athos led his horse along to the stables. Aramis and Porthos did likewise.

“Are you well, son?”

“Maisoui, bien sur,” d’Artagnan responded as he vaulted lightly from his horse. “I’ve told you that,” his eyes narrowed. “Do you feel I am not telling you the truth?”

“I think that you dance around issues as well as you fence,” Treville retorted. “Especially where your health is concerned.”

“Ninon made sure I was kept occupied with mundane tasks and the children were a joy to be around.” D’Artagnan laughed lightly at some of his more memorable moments at the stunts he had gotten into with those five little, young ladies.

“Do I even want to know?” his father shook his head fondly at the boy then held up a hand before d’Artagnan could respond. “Never mind, but you do know that I still need a written report on my desk before nightfall?”

Surprised, d’Artagnan frowned. “I didn’t think you would considering this wasn’t a real mission.”

“Nevertheless, I need it before day’s end.” Treville started to walk away and then immediately stopped to glance d’Artagnan’s way again. “I nearly forgot. You’ll also be reporting for guard duty at the royal palace first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Father,” d’Artagnan hesitated, looking around to make sure they were completely alone. He dreaded having to mention this but knew he must. “I may have to reveal our secret to the inseparables. They’ve become suspicious and before you sent me away Athos warned me we would be talking about it.”

Damning himself, Treville stared at the ground. “Must be losing my touch. Used to be no one could read my expression so thoroughly when I was hiding something close to my chest.”

“Athos did make a good point.”

“What did he say?”

“They need to know, not just for my sake but theirs,” d’Artagnan looked into his father’s troubled face. “Yours, mine and the lives of my friends could be put in jeopardy over this.”

“Meaning Athos realizes that if an enemy gets whiff of our relationship it could work against us all.”

Nodding his head, d’Artagnan took his horse back to the stables.

++++

*Un Chaud Lapin Tavern*

“Whoever named this The Devil’s Wind was a man of insight.” Porthos was finishing his fourth glass of wine.

“Are you and Athos determined to beat out each other?” Aramis stared at his friends and the third bottle of wine to be delivered to their table.

“When d’Art gets here we’ll order another round,” Porthos laughed loudly.

“Are we going to stick the boy with that childish nickname from now on?” Athos scowled into his empty glass.

“But, Athos,” Aramis’s eyes danced with mischief, “it’s so him.”

Sighing, Athos reached for the bottle to top off his drink, but another hand on top of his own prevented that from happening. Looking upward his gazed locked with d’Artagnan’s serious one. “Is there a good reason I cannot have my wine?”

“Je pense que oui,” d’Artagnan’s voice rose above the din inside the tavern, “if you want me to explain my relationship to our captain.”

Instantly Athos stood up, signaled to his two comrades with a sharp nod of his head to follow him as they all left the tavern.

++++

*Athos’s apartments*

They all made themselves comfortable in Athos’s lodgings. It helped that he had walked out of the inn with two bottles of wine which he grabbed off of a shelf and yelled to the barkeep to put it on his tab. He thoroughly enjoyed sharing this vintage with his close friends.

“Have you told Aramis and Porthos yet?” D’Artagnan winced as he could already see by the expressions that were crossing his friend’s faces that they too had held their own suspicions. “I didn’t think we could keep this to ourselves for long,” he muttered softly.

“Was it your idea too?” Aramis asked.

“Non,” d’Artagnan shook his head. “It was the captains.”

“You mean your father’s don’t’ you?” Athos smirked, getting to the heart of the matter right off the bat.

“When did you figure it out?” D’Artagnan reached down for the bottle to pour himself a drink and ended up in a tug of war with Porthos until the larger man gave in gracefully.

“Treville’s reaction at what happened to you over the Bonnaire incident was quite obvious to me,” Athos shrugged. “His actions were that of an outraged parent ready to tear off after their stolen offspring.”

“When did you know, d’Artagnan?” Porthos watched the range of emotions crossing the young one’s face.

“Not until I presented myself to him upon my arrival.”

“So he tumbled a wench then?” Porthos suggested naughtily.

“Non. My mother lived in a nearby village. She was of a good family from what he had told me. Her name was Aurelie Bontecou,” d’Artagnan’s face grew sad. “She died in childbirth.”

“Her parents?” Athos asked gruffly, realizing this conversation was hurting the boy.

“From what I’ve understood neither set of parents were happy about the situation their children had gotten into and wanted no part of their newborn baby.”

“That’s damn rotten!” Porthos growled.

Whistling through his teeth, Aramis stared down at his drink. “Enter your other parents, the d’Artagnans.”

“Oui,” d’Artagnan nodded. “Whom I have written a very lengthy letter too about leaving me quite literally in the dark of my true parentage. As soon as I am allowed any leave I’ll be off to visit them personally.”

“At least you had adoptive folks who cared for you,” Porthos offered and took a sip of his wine.

Knowing the unhappy circumstances that Porthos grew up in brought a grim look to d’Artagnan’s features. “I am ashamed to admit though about growing up among such subterfuge.”

Slamming his glass down, Athos’s eyes were full of fire. “Mon dieu! They were protecting you until you came of age!” Athos stood up, swayed a little and got into the boy’s space. “Never!” he held up a finger, “Never think they lied to you out of malice!”

“I never said they did,” d’Artagnan retorted softly, hurt in his voice that Athos would turn on him in anger. Though he did realize that it was mostly the wine talking. The man was in his cups, there was no doubt about that. “It’s just that my whole life I was living a lie. I’m still reeling that Captain Treville is actually my father.”

“D’Artagnan must have been a enfant terrible,” Porthos chortled which earned him an evil grin from Aramis.

“Have done, Porthos,” d’Artagnan snorted, rolling his eyes over the teasing the dark skinned man was giving him.

Shaking the drink from his muddled mind, Athos’s eyes gleamed brightly as he clapped a hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “We will protect your secret to the grave if need be.” Athos could tell his solemn vow would be kept by his other two friends as well judging by their firm nods. 

Extending his right arm, hand palm down, Athos repeated the Musketeer motto. “All for one….”

The other three mirrored their leader’s example as they placed their hands on top of one another crying out in one voice, “And one for all!”

++++

Just outside of Athos’s apartment door, a lone figure crouched nearby. Having heard every word, Milady smiled in glee.

TBC


	18. Blind Man's Bluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another mission... another disaster for our boy.

*Next day - Cardinal Richelieu’s rooms*

“And what news have you for me, Milady?” His Eminence sat back in his chair awaiting her report while Rochefort idled away his time by staring out the window into the courtyard below.

“I believe this will please you,” Milady nearly purred. “D’Artagnan is our dear Captain Treville’s son.”

Her disclosure pleased the cardinal, while it shocked Rochefort to the core as he whipped his head to stare at her in disbelief.

“It is as I surmised then,” Richelieu appeared nearly giddy over having his suspicions confirmed.

“You knew?” Milady almost made it sound like an accusation.

“I have spies everywhere, my dear,” he grinned slyly, “even clear off in the country of Gascony.” He stood up to walk around his desk. “I had to discover for myself if it were merely a rumor or not.”

"I followed the Musketeers to one of their lodgings and overhead d'Artagnan revealing his relationship with the captain," Milady fluttered her lashes. "So if I may,” Milady bowed her head in deference, “perhaps I could persuade our young would-be Musketeer to join our side.”

“That is what I was hoping you would say,” the cardinal smiled then glanced over at his other agent. “Are you still here?” he asked drolly.

“Apparently,” Rochefort retorted sharply. “I have nothing better to do than listen to gossip over that whelp.”

“Jealousy does not become you, Rochefort,” Milady commented with a light, musical laugh.

“I believe young d’Artagnan has pulled guard duty at the palace this morning,” Richelieu offered. “He may enjoy an interruption from you, Milady.”

“As you wish,” she smiled, curtseyed and strolled out the room.

++++

*In front of the Royal Palace*

As always, d’Artagnan chafed at guard duty and lived for the moment he could rush away to spar or just be with his other three friends.

“D’Artagnan,” Milady exclaimed, faking her surprise at finding him as she walked past. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Milady,” he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “The pleasure is all mine I can assure you.”

“Since I’ve run into you again this is as good a time as any to offer you a proposition.”

“I’m at your disposal for only the briefest of moments,” D’Artagnan’s thoughts ran rampant as he imagined what type of proposition Milady had in mind for him.

“Ah, yes, guard duty,” she said wryly. “I will try to not waste your valuable time.”

Right then, d’Artagnan knew Milady was being sarcastic but still was curious to know what she was about.

“I am employed by a very wealthy patron who is quite interested in you.”

“Why would that be? I’m very ordinary.”

“You downplay your worth and your skills, d’Artagnan,” she said coyly. “I’ve seen you in action and so has he.”

“What is it you need to ask?” D’Artagnan clamped his mouth shut tight knowing he sounded beyond rude. “Sorry. But this does seem to be taking longer than it should.”

“Yes, yes, to be sure. I shall make haste,” she agreed quickly. “How would you feel about working for Cardinal Richelieu?”

“You’re joking,” he exclaimed in amazement.

A little taken aback by the boy’s response, Milady frowned fiercely. “I do not jest in matters such as these, Monsieur!”

“I am in training to be a king’s Musketeer,” he announced firmly.

“Yes, but you could be so much more under the cardinal’s patronage.”

“I’d rather be dead!” he retorted sharply. “And I hate to cut our stimulating conversation short, but I do not want to get in trouble with the captain of the Guards for not doing my duty.”

“As you please,” she snapped out and walked off in a huff. “You’ll rue the day, young sir, that you denied me,” Milady murmured to herself.

“Losing your touch?” Rochefort came out of hiding and approached her side. “The child didn’t appear at all interested in your offer.”

“Shut up!” Pushing past him, Milady marched away without a backward glance.

++++

*Garrison stables*

“How come you two are the only ones going on this little assignment?” Aramis question curiously.

“Don’t mind him, d’Artagnan, he’s just jealous,” Porthos finished saddling his horse.

“I have no idea, Aramis, but the captain ordered me to accompany Porthos.” D’Artagnan mounted his own horse and led him out of the stables with Porthos close behind.

Laying a hand on the boy’s leg, Athos gazed up in concern at the youngster. “Be careful.”

“I’ll do my best,” d’Artagnan smiled down at the older man and kicked the sides of his horse gently to be off on a new adventure.

Both Musketeers left behind watched their two friends ride away. It wasn’t unheard of for them to split up on separate missions or to even go it alone on the odd occasion, but the youngster’s path lately had been a harsh one and they prayed all would go well.

++++

*On the way to Bagnolet near Paris*

“Porthos, did you hear that?”

“Ain’t heard nothin’ but the birds twitterin’ about.” Still, Porthos thought to be on the careful side and stopped his horse. He could tell that the boy’s concern was genuine.

This time the big man did hear the snapping of twigs in the brush surrounding them. “Could be just animals millin’ about.” Porthos changed his tune fast once a bullet breezed past his cheek. “DOWN, BOY!”

Vaulting from his horse, Porthos ran and hid behind some trees for cover. He thought their assailant was perhaps a bit too sloppy as he spotted the man trying to run to his own horse before seeing to it that his job was done. All the better for them then. Taking aim, Porthos brought the man down with one shot from his musket.

“D’Artagnan, lad! It’s safe! I got em!” Looking around, Porthos noted the youngster’s horse all alone without his master nearby. “D’Artagnan!” Dread was beginning to make itself felt in the pit of his stomach when no answer was forthcoming.

As he neared the boy’s horse, Porthos spotted a body lying under the shade of a tree. “Athos and Aramis are going to kill me!” Immediately he checked d’Artagnan over for injuries and found none. Relieved, he began to breath easier. That is until the boy regained consciousness.

Slapping the youngster’s face lightly to get d’Artagnan to wake up, Porthos wasn’t satisfied until he heard the child groaning. He then discovered blood weeping from the boy’s scalp which eventually poured down d’Artagnan’s face. “I’ll treat that right now. Never let it be said that I don’t pay attention to Aramis out in the field when he takes care of our wounds.”

Putting a hand to his aching head, d’Artagnan slowly opened his eyes... or at least he thought he had them opened. “How long was I out?”

“No more than ten minutes at most I’d guess.” Porthos was so concerned in tending to the child’s injury that he didn’t notice d’Artagnan stiffen.

“You’re having me on?” His head really was killing him. Maybe he should just lay back down and sleep the pain away.

“None of that,” Porthos ordered, tapping the young man’s cheek hard. “Stay awake! And no I’m not joking. Why’d you ask that?”

“Because everything’s dark,” d’Artagnan swallowed a huge lump that had gathered in his throat. “I can’t see anything.”

Heart dropping to the soles of his too large feet, Porthos waved his hands in front of d’Artagnan’s face with no response. “Mon dieu! Don’t budge an inch! I’m going to tether your horse to mine and then we’re both headin’ back to the garrison.”

“The mission?”

“It wasn’t that important. I’m sure the captain would rate you a might higher than delivering a letter to the friend of the king,” Porthos shrugged even though he knew the child couldn’t see his motion. “Captain already mentioned to me it was just over some silly business pertaining to purchasing some expensive cloths for the queen’s wardrobe.”

“Monsieur Bonacieux wouldn’t be pleased to hear about that,” d’Artagnan managed to quip, despite his own predicament.

“No doubt,” Porthos mumbled. “Right now my mission is to see to it I get you back to the garrison and our own doctors. Before I do that I’m going to see if our assassin carried any important papers on him.”

Running over to the body, Porthos rummaged through the dead man’s clothing coming up empty except for what Porthos found in one pocket. Staring at the flowers, he let the blue and white Forget-Me-Nots fall out of his hand onto the ground.

When he re-joined d’Artagnan, Porthos gathered the boy up in his arms and gently settled him on his horse. Carefully he mounted up behind the youngster, making sure he had one arm tight across d’Artagnan’s waist.

“I’ve done it again,” d’Artagnan banged his head against Porthos’s expansive chest.

Pressing his forehead against the back of d’Artagnan’s head, Porthos whispered a prayer he once heard Aramis use.

TBC


	19. When You Care Enough to Send the Very Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More intrigue and more revelations...

Aramis and Athos were sparring in the courtyard as were other Musketeers. Sweating, they both took a break and went over to a bench where their water skins laid. Taking a cool drink soothed their parched throats.

“Hey, Aramis," Rene, a fellow Musketeer called out, pointing off to the distance. "Why are they back so soon? I thought they left over an hour ago.”

Turning his head, Aramis understood then what Rene was going on about and instantly clasped Athos's arm in a hard grip. “Why is d'Artagnan's horse tethered to Porthos's?”

“Probably took up lame,” Athos replied, also wondering why the boy was riding double and why they were back so soon. A thrown shoe wouldn't have been much of a worry to them and could have continued their mission without much issue.

“Why is the boy sitting in front of Porthos and not behind?”

“Aramis! Cease!” Athos growled. “We will find out when they get here.”

“Why are they back so soon?” Captain Treville now joined in as he too began to worry.

Not hearing at first the voice of his captain, Athos rounded on Aramis to tell him to shut up when he noticed the officer. Nodding his head at the man, he held his tongue and focused on his two friends who were riding into the garrison.

“HELP!” Porthos yelled loudly. “I need to get d'Artagnan to the physician now!”

“Mon dieu! What has our Gascon done to himself now?” Aramis sent up a multitude of prayers as he ran swiftly to aid their youngest brother.

Not saying a word for the life of him, Athos too found himself beside Porthos reaching upward to help d'Artagnan down. “What is wrong with the boy?” He could see that d'Artagnan's eyes didn't seem to be tracking properly, as the youngster didn't register the helping hands reaching up for him.

“We were barely an hours ride out from the garrison when we were ambushed.” Finally getting the child down from the horse with the help of his friends, Porthos cradled d'Artagnan in his strong arms as he rushed at top speed to the garrison's infirmary. Athos, Aramis and Treville hot on his heels.

Once Porthos quickly explained the extent of the boy's injuries to the doctor he turned around to face an inquisition of three.

Stepping forward first, Athos's grim face demanded answers.

“Didn't see em',” Porthos ran a hand down his strained face, “til the bullet came out of nowhere.”

“D'Artagnan?” Treville asked as his stomach churned.

“I'm not sure if the assassin cared who he took down or if one of us were the target. But the bullet skimmed along the boy's scalp.”

“Causing it to bleed profusely,” Aramis remarked, as being the field medic he would understand about the injury.

“What are you not telling us?” Athos fisted his hands wanting to lash out at something or someone.

“Our boy can't right see a damn blessed thing!” Porthos growled low. A collective gasp from the three men in front of him told the large Musketeer he had left them just as stunned as he was.

Rushing over to the doctor's side, Aramis began to help in earnest. Praying that the loss of sight was only a temporary inconvenience for his young friend. “Trauma to the head could have resulted in this,” he told d'Artagnan. His voice carried over to the others as well.

Gazing down at the young man, Aramis ran his fingers lightly through the child's long hair. Leaning down he whispered in d'Artagnan's ear. “You'll be right as rain. You're a stubborn Gascon and can survive anything.”

Grabbing hold of Aramis's hand, d'Artagnan pulled the man closer. “I'm more worried how father and Athos are going to react to this.”

Patting the boy's shoulder gently, Aramis risked a glance over his shoulder at the men d'Artagnan worried over and sighed. “I'd be more concerned for the people behind this attack once we've discovered who they are. I believe all of us would enjoy removing a piece of their hides little by little.” Hearing d'Artagnan's snort of laughter warmed Aramis's heart. Feeling a presence behind him, he knew who it was and changed positions immediately.

“You do manage to get into the thick of things sometimes without even trying,” Athos commented dryly. He didn't care how this would appear to the others but leaned forward to place a kiss on the boy's head near the wound.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan mumbled softly. His eyes closed, half asleep from the medication he was given, d'Artagnan's hand groped for his anchor to a world gone suddenly, terrifyingly dark.

“I'm here, boy, and not going anywhere,” Athos returned d'Artagnan's grip. Snatching a towel, Athos concentrated on drying the perspiration dripping from the younger man's face.

Managing to squeeze in-between the doctor and Athos, Treville laid a hand on his son's head. “It's getting so that I'm going to look into getting you kitted out in full body armor before you leave for a mission.”

“Sorry, sir.” d'Artagnan's apology barely escaped his lips before he finally went to sleep.

“Captain,” Porthos waved the officer over. “I forgot to mention that I killed the scum responsible.”

“Find anything on him that could indicate who was behind this?” Treville was furious and would make the ones responsible pay for this crime.

“Naw, just some flowers.”

“Come again?” Athos's eyebrows arched.

“In his pocket.” Porthos scrunched up his face trying to remember them. “Dainty like little things. I think they were blue and white.”

“Ah!” Aramis thought he knew. “Forget-Me-Nots. You find them scattered about all over the place.”

Paling, Athos remembered a woman from his dark past that had a particular fondness for those. But it couldn't be her because Anne was dead by his order.

“Ummmm, this could be nothing,” Aramis said, “but awhile back when d'Artagnan and I were sparring we got on the subject of our ambush on the way to Le Maris.”

“When we delivered that document to Monsieur Abney?” Porthos confirmed.

“How many ambushes have we had?” Aramis retorted sharply.

“Too many,” Captain Treville admitted out loud wincing.

“I meant recently, sir,” Aramis smiled sheepishly. “Anyway the boy told me the man he killed had flowers in his hand as well.”

“Forget-Me-Nots?” Athos dreaded the answer.

“Yes, d'Artagnan said they were blue.”

“And our assailant had blue and white ones on him,” Porthos repeated.

His legs suddenly unsteady, Athos grabbed for a chair to sit down on before he collapsed.

“Athos?” Treville was worried over the man's reaction.

“Captain, you're the only one who knows about my wife, Anne.”

“Of course.” Treville knew the circumstances that Atho’s’s wife died under but couldn’t figure out what that had to do with.

“Her favorite flowers were blue Forget-Me-Nots.”

“Come, come, my dear Athos,” Treville said. “You think she’s reaching out from beyond the grave?”

“I do not know,” Athos bent his head.

“Athos was married?” Aramis was shocked but it cleared up a few things as to why his friend never trusted the fairer sex.

“Oh I want to hear this story,” Porthos deep voice spoke up.

“Athos,” d’Artagnan had woken up a few minutes ago and heard everything the man had said. Worry etched on his brow as he tried hard to remember something.

Lifting his head, Athos walked over to the bed where the boy laid. “What is it?”

“Describe her to me.”

Curious as to why the boy would need to know, Athos nevertheless did as was asked. “She was extremely beautiful with long wavy, dark brown hair and green eyes.”

“She’s not dead,” d’Artagnan told him quite bluntly.

“Explain?” Treville barked.

“A woman fitting her description has been trying very hard to gain my attention lately. Which I must confess she has.” Silence reached his ears and d’Artagnan figured he’d continue but reached out a hand to Athos. “I haven’t had a chance to take her up on her offers.”

Clutching the youngster’s weakened grip in his own, Athos stared at the unseeing eyes of his friend. “What has this woman exactly offered you?” he struggled to get out.

“Wanting to get together to talk. That sort of thing except for this last time.”

Tugging on the child’s hand, Athos wanted him to explain further.

“Found out she wants me to forget getting a commission in the king’s Musketeers and join her and the cardinal instead.”

“Pauvre diable!” Treville exclaimed harshly. More worried now than ever before for his son.

“I was mad and told her I’d rather die.”

“Well that explains it then,” Porthos grunted. “That bullet had your name on it.”

“Seems those flowers are her calling card,” Aramis thoughtfully offered. “Where the lady is concerned if you care enough to send the very best,” he laughed lightly, “you say it with Forget-Me-Nots.”

“Will you quit jesting,” Porthos ground out. “None of this is funny.”

“D’Artagnan, what does she call herself now?” Athos needed to know because she was the enemy now or the very devil in disguise. For only a devil could escape the hangman’s noose so thoroughly.

“Milady de Winter.”

“So that’s the *Milady* I’ve been hearing things about,” Aramis stroked his beard. “Some of our fellow Musketeers have spoken of her beauty, but I have yet to meet her,” he frowned. “Now I do not even want that pleasure.”

“First things first,” Athos said forcefully. “We guard d’Artagnan day and night until his sight returns.” Glancing down at the boy staring blankly up at the ceiling he added, “And it will return, trust me on that, child.”

“You are not God, Athos, to make such a claim,” d’Artagnan scoffed.

“No I am not, but I trust such a God would not strike you down in this way, d’Artagnan,” Athos told him seriously. “Once you are back on your feet then we’ll contend with my dear not so dead wife.”

++++

A week of darkness passed for d’Artagnan, but he was never alone. For there were always one of the inseparables by his side to tell him of past adventures and encouraged him to think of new ones to come. His father was likewise a regular visitor along with most of the regiments Musketeers.

“Would you thank the king for me, father, for lending me his personal physician?”

“The king and queen have both been vexed over what happened to you, son,” Teville’s voice roughened. “They do not know who Milady is nor her liaison with the cardinal as yet.”

“So the cardinal can breathe easier once more,” d’Artagnan remarked sourly and touched his head where the wound had left a vivid scar.

“I’ll have you know, young man, that I had nothing to do with the attack on you,” Cardinal Richelieu said as he swept into the infirmary startling both father and son. “I’ve only kept away this long to not agitate you further until you’ve healed. But these damnable rumors are floating around and I have been trying to keep them from their majesties!"

Leaning up on one elbow, d’Artagnan stared with sightless eyes at where he supposed the cardinal stood. “Oh and suddenly the woman who asked me to join you, and at my refusal of her so generous offer decided to shoot me, has no alliance with you?”

“Yes, she is known to me, but this was not done by my command!” Richelieu growled nearly losing his temper. “I wanted you unharmed. It wouldn’t benefit me in any way since I want you in my Red Guards. I make no secret of that now,” he rubbed at his forehead feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. “You have qualities I much admire, and you could rise rapidly in the ranks.” Richelieu eyed Treville sourly. “Not so if you ever become a so-called Musketeer.”

D’Artagnan didn’t need his vision to know his father was probably reaching for his rapier. So he reached out instead hoping to grab his father’s arm to stop him from committing treason.

And it was the boy’s staying hand that prevented Treville from separating the cardinal from his head. “Where is that woman?” Treville demanded.

“I wish I knew.” The cardinal drew closer to d’Artagnan and passed a hand over the boy’s eyes. “Still nothing?”

“Well, define nothing?” d’Artagnan’s lips quirked upward. “I’m starting to see outlines of people’s shapes. So I guess that’s an improvement.”

“I will say extra prayers during mass for you.”

“Thank you, your Eminence.”

“Captain, I’m stationing my own guards around him until I’m sure of d’Artagnan’s safety.”

“There’s no need,” Treville replied abruptly. “Most of my regiment have been taking turns and I believe they’ll feel highly insulted by the presence of your own soldiers.”

Frowning, Richelieu knew the captain had a good point. He didn’t need to have fighting break out between the two factions. “Very well then. I must leave as I’m due for an audience with the king soon.”

Feeling a slight breeze as the cardinal’s cape swooshed around him as he left, d’Artagnan sighed in relief. “That was intense and unexpected.”

“If I hadn’t heard it for myself I wouldn’t have believed it,” Porthos announced as he walked inside first. 

Taking off his hat, Athos ran a hand through his own hair. “Do you believe his words, Captain?”

“He seemed genuinely upset on d’Artagan’s behalf.”

“We all know what an excellent actor our dear cardinal can be,” Aramis added while removing his own hat and checking his hair in a mirror.

“There has not been any sightings of Milady since d’Artagnan and Porthos came back,” Athos sat on the edge of the boy’s bed and ruffled his hair. “Am I still a big blur to you?”

“Yes and no,” d’Artagnan shrugged. “It comes and goes.”

“Where did these come from?” Aramis was standing by a table that had a huge bowl filled with flowers on it.

When Athos saw what type of flowers they were he strode over to the table, picked up the bowl and smashed it on the floor. “I will kill her!” he growled.

“What’s happening?” d’Artagnan asked of anyone that would care to answer him.

In that moment the doctor came rushing in because of the crash, thinking the boy had fallen out of bed. When he noticed the mess on the floor he glared at Athos who was still standing looking down at the flowers. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Who brought these in here?” Athos barked, grabbing the doctor by the throat while Porthos and Aramis tried to pull him away from the innocent man.

“I don’t know. They were just here when I got in this morning.”

“Mon dieu!” Captain Treville shuddered. “She was here with my son and no one knew anything about it.”

“D’Artagnan couldn’t have been alone more than a few minutes,” Aramis said.

“In those few minutes,” Athos said sharply, “Milady could have killed him.”

“Well I was going to ask if I could be allowed out in the courtyard. But with this happening I guess not,” d’Artagnan’s voice was filled with dejection.

“Some sunlight might put some color back into those cheeks,” Aramis agreed. “Plus you’ll be surrounded by Musketeers,” he folded his arms. “I’d like to see her pull any type of stunt with that many men about the place.”

Feeling a hat shoved on his head, d’Artagnan tried to remove it but got his hands batted away.

“That stays on,” Athos ordered.

“I never wear a hat,” d’Artagnan whined.

“Yes, why is that?” Aramis asked and watched the boy hedge as he murmured softly. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Don’t want to mess up my hair,” d’Artagnan snapped and turned beet red at his admission after hearing the laughter.

“No, our boy likes the rain beating down on his head making him look like a drowned puppy,” Porthos teased.

“Have done! I’ll keep the hat on if someone would kindly help me down the steps to the courtyard.”

“If we did not care so we would not tease,” Athos whispered to the youngster as he helped d’Artagnan stand up. “I will guide you safely down.”

“Mother hens,” d’Artagnan snorted, “the lot of you.” But he smiled none the less.

TBC


	20. Light at the End of the Tunnel… or Is It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vision back and another new threat to come.

As the days flew by, d’Artagnan’s sight improved dramatically. If you had asked Aramis’s opinion he would have said it was due to taking him out in the sunshine and fresh air, but secretly d’Artagnan believed it was because of the many prayers being offered on his behalf. Aramis never failed to let him know that the entire regiment had been making regular visits to the chapel. Plus, as far as d’Artagnan was concerned it didn’t hurt that in this matter he had the cardinal on his side offering up extra prayers on his behalf as well.

The final examination from the garrison’s doctor proved that d’Artagnan’s sight had been fully restored. But he swore the doctor to secrecy as he wanted to surprise his friends.

D’Artagnan managed to sneak down into the courtyard without being seen. He pretended that his vision wasn’t completely back yet as he sat down on a bench near where the three inseparables were sparring.

“My boy!” Aramis cried out. “How did you get down from the infirmary?”

“Rene helped me,” d’Artagnan lied through his teeth, hoping that Rene didn’t show up to prove him false. Porthos handed him an apple carefully making sure it was in his grip. D’Artagnan bit into it with relish.

“Well it’s good to see you down here,” Athos laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Athos, why don’t you and I practice our fencing?” Silence met d’Artagnan’s ears and he restrained himself from laughing in his friend’s shocked face.

“There is the slight imposition of your lacking clear vision.” Athos wondered if the child had lost his mind as well as his sight. Then again, this is d’Artagnan he was talking to.

“I can make out your form well enough now even though it’s a bit blurry around the edges. Anyway, what’s the difference between this and when Aramis spars with you blindfolded for the fun of it?”

“Youngins’ got a point, Athos,” Porthos agreed as he bit into his own apple.

“What have you got to lose?” D’Artagnan held his breath to see what Athos would do.

“My life if I injure you any further,” Athos admitted dryly with a glance upwards toward Treville’s office. “The captain would eat me for dinner and then spit me out afterward.”

“Athos,” d’Artagnan gave him his best puppy dog expression and knew he had won when he heard the man sigh in defeat.

“Aramis, Porthos,” Athos barked, “make sure to knock the youngster on his ass if it looks like this is getting out of control,” he grimaced.

“We’re good,” Porthos added giving Athos a thumbs up, likewise Aramis.

“D’Artagnan, ready?”

“Yes,” D’Artagnan saluted with his sword then lunged ferociously at an astonished and now slightly suspicious Athos. When d’Artagnan targeted and lunged at the left side of his friend’s torso, Athos moved to the left to parry. D’Artagnan then disengaged and finished his attack on the right side of Athos’s torso, causing his opponent to counter with a circle-parry.

Athos felt he was being played royally and shouted, “Arretez!”

Immediately d’Artagnan’s momentum came to a halt.

Bringing the tip of his rapier just underneath the boy’s chin, Athos tapped it gently. “D’Artagnan, care to share your good news with the rest of us lesser beings?”

Grinning from ear to ear, d’Artagnan bowed. “My vision has come back.” Then he was engulfed in a fierce hug from Athos who also kissed the side of his temple near where his injury was still healing.

Not to be outdone, Porthos gave the child a bone crushing hug as well. While Aramis pulled out his cross he always wore, kissed it and grabbed d’Artagnan about the waist twirling the boy around as if they were dancing.

“Aramis, halte!” Athos growled. “You’ll make d’Artagnan dizzy.”

“Eh,” Porthos chuckled. “Our young one was born dizzy.” His comment set off a round of laughter from everyone present.

Other Musketeers slapped the boy on the back and were extremely happy that d’Artagnan could see once again.

“I really should go tell the captain,” d’Artagnan glanced up toward his father’s office and nearly jumped out of his skin when a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

“How could I not hear what was going on, eh?” Treville smiled. “I watched you spar with Athos and could see instantly that you've recovered.” He smirked as he turned his gaze on his lieutenant. “Fooled you though didn’t he?” Treville laughed. “That’s a first.”

“Probably won’t be the last if our young pup has any say in the matter,” Athos grinned. “Later we’ll all share a bottle of wine at my place to celebrate.” Nodding to his captain Athos added, “You as well, sir.”

“Thank you for the offer, Athos, I may take you up on it.” Observing his best men surrounding his son, Treville knew the boy couldn’t be in better hands. Whispering in the youngster's ear he said, “You inherited your hard head from me you know. I had no doubt you would come out of this.”

“Ummm, before you go can I ask you something?” D’Artagnan crossed his fingers that his father would agree. “Can I resume my duties with the Guards?”

“Ah! Actually your timing couldn’t be better.”

Athos frowned and would have voiced his concern, but one look at Treville’s face prevented him from doing so.

“I am sending Alain, Gaston and Tristan out on simple patrols. Considering what you’ve just been through this will get you back in the saddle so to speak.”

“What about Monsieur Des Essart? Won’t he be upset?” d’Artagnan mentioned a bit uncertainly.

“He’s used to the fact that I’ve been borrowing you, and he knows my high hopes for you do not rest with his Guards.”

“I would feel more comfortable if d’Artagnan went with us instead,” Athos mumbled to Aramis. He was not happy about his captain’s orders.

“The lad has to get used to going out on assignments with other Musketeers,” Porthos reminded his friend. “D’Artagnan does not belong exclusively to us.”

“I disagree,” Athos growled.

“As do I,” Aramis nodded. “Everytime that boy goes out without us something bad happens to him nearly all the damn time!”

"Even when d'Artagnan's with you three he still manages to come to harm," Treville snorted.

Having heard part of their conversation, Alain strolled up to pose a question to the inseparables. “Don’t you trust us to keep d’Artagnan safe?”

Not wanting to argue the point nor make the other Musketeer angry, Athos kept quiet. He really didn’t have much of a leg to stand on and he knew it.

“After what the lad’s been through lately we’re just a might overprotective, Alain. No hard feelings,” Porthos offered.

“None taken,” Alain smiled. “We will guard him with our lives.”

“Oh everyone do be quiet!” d’Artagnan yelled, full of embarrassment. You would have thought he was a five year old the way his friends carried on. “If I have any say on this,” he glared at Athos, Aramis and Porthos each in turn, “I would trust them with my life as I trust it with yours.”

“Now that’s all settled,” Treville eyed his soldiers carefully for fear another outburst might break out from one of them, “I have work to do.”

D’Artagnan worried when he saw Athos and Alain having a conversation off to one side. No doubt it was about him.

Slapping a hand on the boy’s back, Porthos grinned. “Don’t worry so. Athos is probably going over our manual on *the care and feeding of young Gascons*.”

“There’s a manual!” Both d’Artagnan and Aramis were remarkably surprised at Porthos words.

++++

*Somewhere on the outskirts of the village of Vanves, France, money exchanged hands*

“You want me to kill them all?”

“Monsieur, you have a reputation among your villagers as having somewhat of an erratic nature.”

“If by that you mean to say that I’m as crazy as a loon, you’d be right on the money,” Victor Delven stuck out both hands wiggling his fingers for the coins she was about to drop into them.

“Of course,” she shook her head, “how remiss of me.” Milady gave him a small box and put it in the man’s eager paws. “That amount should be sufficient enough to take care of my demands.”

When he opened it, he found all the money he would need to last him for months to come. His finger traced something that was attached to the lid of the box. “Forget-Me-Nots?”

“Yes!” Milady drawled. “Call it my calling card if you like,” she smiled grimly. “And remember you will have to make it look like an ambush and take out all of those Musketeers or Captain Treville will become suspicious.” She held up a finger. “But make sure the last one you make bleed and kill is the boy, d’Artagnan.”

“Of course, Milady,” Victor grinned devilishly, “for this I’ll gut him like a stuffed pig for ya.”

“Make sure that you do,” she snapped.

“Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours,” Victor cackled like a maniac. “Butchering’s my specialty.”

“I’m counting on it.” Milady twirled around and walked away without a backward glance.

TBC


	21. A Token of Milady’s Esteem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have other things to work on but had to do another back to back chapter for this since my brain wouldn't shut off.  
> Anyway, Not wanting to change the warnings on my story because of this chapter, please be forewarned that this will mention decapitations, though nothing really graphic as I don't usually do that. But if you're even a bit squeemish, close your eyes over that part then.  
> That said, Milady is a dark creature and wants her pound of flesh.

*Musketeer Garrison, next day*

“Now be careful,” Aramis raised his finger, waving it in d’Artagnan’s face, oblivious to the boy giving him the stink eye.

“Stay close to the others,’ Porthos offered gruffly.

“If you so much as come back with even a scratch,” Athos took a heavy breath, his blue eyes full of concern, “I won’t be accountable for my actions,” he all but growled.

Seeing d’Artagnan rolling his eyes and hearing good natured snickering from the other Musketeers going on patrol with the boy, Captain Treville smiled. “Now, now, Athos, calm down,” he cajoled. “There are four of them for God’s sake!”

“Yeah,” Porthos nodded acknowledging the other three Musketeers that will accompany d’Artagnan, “but we all know from past experience that our lad needs a whole regiment to keep em’ safe.”

“Well put, my friend.” Aramis kept his eyes steady on the youngster as d’Artagnan squirmed in his saddle.

“D’Artagnan, you all set?” Alain asked, hiding his own smile that threatened to break out on his face if they didn’t leave within the next few minutes. After Athos treated him to a lengthy list yesterday of how to keep watch over the boy, he didn’t relish another chat.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said. “Let’s hurry before everyone changes their minds about me going,” he grinned as Alain’s laughter burst forth.

Waving goodbye, d’Artagnan didn’t need to look back to see four worried faces watching his departure. Well maybe his father wasn’t as concerned since it was he who sanctioned him for this patrol in the first place.

Kicking the sides of his horse, d’Artagnan broke into a full out gallop overtaking the others quickly, glancing back every once in awhile to see if the other Musketeers would catch up. D’Artagnan enjoyed being the only one that could outride his friends. He and Athos always took bets which one of them could get back to the garrison first. Loser always bought the wine at their local watering hole. Usually, it ended up being poor Aramis or Porthos who emptied their pockets.

Gaston, Tristan and Alain finally drew up beside the boy.

“You ride like the wind,” Tristan commended.

“He’s one with his horse all right,” Gaston agreed.

“As long as d’Artagnan keeps his seat we’ll all keep our heads,” Alain quipped fondly.

“Did Athos truly have something written out on the *care and feeding of young Gascons*?” D’Artagnan would be rather embarrassed if that got out.

“Who told you?” Alain chuckled.

“Porthos mentioned it yesterday when I noticed Athos pulling you aside.

“Don’t be angry with him,” Gaston grinned. “He and the others care about your welfare.”

“Love you like a real brother,” Tristan added, “as they should.”

“Soon I bet you’ll be getting that commission and joining our ranks,” Alain said as if there were no doubt about the outcome.

“For that to happen though I have to accomplish something of import,” d’Artagnan turned thoughtful. “Right now I can’t even fathom what that would be.”

“Athos once told you that you were a Musketeer in all but name,” Gaston reminded the boy.

“It will come soon,” Alain gave d’Artagnan an encouraging look.

Up to now their patrol had been rather hum drum. But just as they approached the village of Vanves... all hell broke loose.

Shots rang out from behind a rock taking all four of them by surprise. One bullet found its mark in Alain’s thigh, while Tristan took one in the upper right portion of his chest. Gaston and d’Artagnan managed to escape unscathed until Gaston’s horse reared up, unseating him and on the way down to the ground he hit his head on a boulder knocking him out.

“Mon dieu!” d’Artagnan cried as he watched his comrade’s all fall.

“D’Artagnan!” Alain yelled to the youngster,” fous le camp!”

He knew Alain was ordering him to get the hell away from here, but d’Artagnan would never abandon them.

Suddenly d’Artagnan felt a thick coil of rope thrown around his body and then pulled tightly enough to unseat him from his mount. Hitting the ground hard enough to shake all his bones, d’Artagnan tried to get to his feet to no avail. Then a pair of black boots filled his line of sight as he laid there on his stomach. When a hand tangled into his hair pulling it viciously, he stared into the maniacal eyes of their assailant. “Who are you?”

“Your death, boy!”

++++

Victor Delven enjoyed his work as he trussed up the four of them after dragging them into his barn. He had to remember Milady’s warning. Victor had to make this look like the ambush was meant for all of them even though it was the boy she really wanted dead.

“Alain, Tristan,” d’Artagnan glanced over at the other men near him, “how fare you?”

“I’m bleeding pretty heavily,” Tristan admitted.

“Same here,” Alain grunted. “If we don’t get our wounds tended too we’ll bleed out soon enough. No matter what lays in store for us.”

“Gaston hasn’t regained consciousness yet either,” d’Artagnan worried his lower lip.

“I’m glad at least that you didn’t get shot,” Tristan smiled sadly remembering Athos’s words to him.

“I don’t think that condition will last very long,” d’Artagnan remarked as he observed the way that man was watching him. “Why are you doing this to us?”

“I was well paid,” Victor shrugged, “and because I can,” he gave a great bark of laughter at that.

“Who? Who paid you?” Alain asked.

“You don’t need to worry about that none,” Victor snapped. “I’ve other things needing my attention right now, but never fear I shall return,” he cackled madly.

“D’Artagnan, can you work your hands free of your bonds?” Tristan asked hopefully.

Feeling blood flow down his wrists as he tried valiantly to rub the rope up and down the wooden beam he was tied too, d’Artagnan finally shook his head. “Non! The rope is too thick.”

From the darkening sky that Alain could see through a cracked window, he figured they were overdue back at the garrison. It wouldn’t take a regiment to track them down just three determined inseparables. He prayed they’d make it in time.

++++

*Musketeer Garrison*

“Sir, they are late,” Athos’s gut feeling came back to haunt him. This was how he felt watching d’Artagnan riding away without them covering his young back.

“An hour,” Treville scoffed lightly. “I’d worry more if they were long overdue by a day at least.”

“We want to go lookin’ for em’.” Porthos stood beside an agitated Aramis. Both men wore deep frowns of concern.

“You do know that d’Artagnan won’t forgive any of you for a very long time if you discover your fears are for naught.”

“We are willing to risk that chance,” Athos remarked dryly.

“Very well.” Treville’s eyes narrowed for just a fraction of a second. “If you do find them in over their heads please feel free to go to the rescue.”

All three Musketeers walked swiftly out, ran down the steps two at a time and mounted their horses.

++++

*Delven’s barn*

When Victor strode back inside he walked to the back of his barn and retrieved something. Standing in front of the four men once more he laughed harshly in their faces as he held up his scythe. Its curved blade gleamed mockingly in front of the captives drawn faces.

Tristan was the weakest from blood loss and his already pale face lost all its remaining color as he blanched at the sight of the weapon.

Silently Alain murmured a prayer to the Blessed Virgin for her protection. While poor Gaston, who had awakened a few hours ago, wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing.

Out of all of them d’Artagnan was of course the more alert, not having been wounded like the rest of them. “I don’t understand why you took pay to kill us.”

“She made me a very lucrative offer.”

Picking quickly up on the *she* part, d’Artagnan groaned. It would seem Milady had an extremely long reach. If he and the others were to die today Athos would go on a murderous rampage. D’Artagnan was sure of that as nothing else.

“First those ones,” Victor pointed indicating the three injured Musketeers, “and then you’re to be last,” he kicked d’Artagnan in the side just for the heck of it.

“Why do I get the honor of dying last?” As the unknown man leaned down into d’Artagnan’s personal space until they were nearly nose to nose, he could smell the other’s fetid breath making d’Artagnan want to gag.

Victor frowned. “It’s what she wanted. Seemed like to me you’re her intended victim. The others are just collateral damage.” Throwing his arms wide, Victor turned in a circle. “This way it won’t appear as if she wanted just you done in.”

“Alain... Tristan... Gaston,” d’Artagnan’s throat was thick with the tears he refused to shed in front of this maniac, “I am so very, very sorry you have all been caught up in Milady’s vengeance against me.”

“The blame is not on your head,” Alain closed his eyes briefly trying to stay awake. “We will meet again in the next life.”

“Aye!” Both Tristan and Gaston agreed, no condemnation in their eyes for the boy.

With tears finally dripping down his cheeks, d’Artagnan watched as their captor swung the scythe with deadly accuracy at his three brave, defenseless friends. In one forceful swing three heads rolled near his feet as d’Artagnan screamed and screamed.

++++

“What was that God awful sound?” Porthos glanced around the area but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary except an old barn that had seen better days.

“It came from over there. I’m sure of it.” Aramis pointed in the direction of that same barn.

“I think we should investigate it.” Athos glanced grimly at his companions set faces.

The closer they got to the barn the more nervous their horses acted up. All three had a hard time controlling their mounts.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Aramis mused.

“I’ve got chills going up and down my spine,” Porthos freely admitted.

“*Feelings* and *chills* are not keeping us from seeing what’s inside there.” After Athos got down from his mount, he slowly opened the barn door only to be greeted by a most foul stench.

“That right smells like blood,” Porthos whispered.

Making the sign of the cross, Aramis drew out his sword and musket as did the other two.

The sight that greeted them would be forever etched in their minds until the day they died.

Three decapitated heads lay on the dirt floor in front of their bloody bodies. There would have been a fourth added to that number except Porthos rushed at the man about to take off d’Artagnan’s young head.

While Porthos dealt with that scum, Athos and Armis ran over to the youngster.

Falling to his knees, Athos put both hands on either side of the child’s face, shaking it gently while Aramis worked on the boy’s bonds. “D’Artagnan!”

No sound escaped d’Artagnan’s lips as he stared blankly ahead, not blinking even once.

“Aramis, attend!” Athos switched roles and got his knife out as he tried to cut through the thick rope.

“Athos, he’s in a state of shock,” Aramis ran his hand gently over the boy’s unruly hair, not stirring any sort of reaction from d’Artagnan.

Joining them, Porthos crouched down beside Aramis. “Whoever he was, he’s dead now.”

“How?” Athos demanded. “I wanted him alive!”

“Sorry about that,” Porthos growled, not sorry in the least. “We fought and he fell on his own pitchfork. Bloody justice if ya ask me.”

“A fitting end,” Athos snarled. “Even though it means I won’t be the one to end his miserable life.” Looking down at the all too silent boy, he leaned against one of the posts. “We take d’Artagnan home first and send back a detail for our brothers.” Glancing back at his fallen comrades Athos wished he could cry for them. “D’Artagnan rides with me!”

“Athos, there’s one more thing,” Porthos held out his hand.

Relieving the box from his friend, Athos flipped the lid open to stare at the generous amount of coins inside.

Aramis whistled in appreciation. “He was paid handsomely it would seem.”

Tracing the flowers pressed into the lid, Athos’s lips tightened into a fine line as he snapped the lid shut. “Her work again!” Observing their youngster whom both Aramis and Porthos were trying their best to support, Athos had murder in his heart. “A token of Milady’s esteem!” he spat in disgust.

“It would appear your wife is not done with our boy yet.” Porthos would have gladly strangled her if she was in front of him in that moment.

“I will find her!” Athos ground out between clenched teeth as he gazed at the blood spilled this day. “Milady de Winter will rue the day she came to Paris!”

TBC


	22. A Shot to the Side Is So Much More Authentic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trap is set... go!  
> You will notice dialog from the last episode of the series mixed in here with my own voice.  
> It took quite a few re-winds of my on-demand feature to get the words right. LOL!  
> Warnings of a sometimes major character's death.

*On the way back to the garrison*

Holding tightly to the limp body in his arms, Athos pleaded quietly in d’Artagnan’s ear. “Please, wherever you are come back to me... to us.” He kept up this mantra for the next few miles. “We love you, little brother. I love you even more as the son I never had.” Athos shook the boy gently. “Don’t leave me alone again... don’t leave your brothers behind.”

Bringing his horse along side of Athos, Aramis noticed the grim, set features of his friend’s face. “Any better?”

“No change,” was Athos’s clipped response.

“We’re nearly home,” Porthos rough voice broke the tension. “Get em’ back to the doc’s to look at.”

“This is becoming a bad habit of the youngsters,” Aramis shook his head. “Four men ride out and only one survived,” he crossed himself, “by the grace of God.”

“Whatever happened back there,” Porthos growled low, “God had nothin’ to do with it.”

“She will pay for her sins,” Athos added while tucking d’Artagnan’s head underneath his chin. “Because of her vindictiveness the boy’s suffered blindness and now this travesty.”

“All because he rebuffed her offers,” Porthos shook his fist in the air.

“Even the cardinal’s mad at her,” Aramis pointed out. “Whatever services she performed for him I have a feeling will happen no more.”

As they rode into the garrison all talk ceased until they delivered d’Artagnan to the infirmary and informed Treville what had transpired to his patrol.

++++

*Infirmary... again*

“Son,” Treville’s quiet voice tried to break through to his child. Placing a hand on the boy’s brow he gently stroked it. Glancing upward he caught his lieutenant’s eye as the man joined him. “Athos, he’s still the same.”

“I came to inform you that the bodies of Alain, Tristan and Gaston have come home to rest.”

“We will have a proper burial for them tomorrow,” Treville announced sadly.

“None of them had any family left for you to notify.”

“Non,” Treville corrected him. “We were their family.” Standing up his gaze locked once more on his son’s slack features. “I should attend to those arrangements now. Stay with him, Athos.”

Taking the chair his captain just vacated, Athos wearily sat down. Picking up d’Artagnan’s lax hand he squeezed it and bowed his head. “If I still believed in God as Aramis does this would be the moment I’d ask him to help you,” he sighed deeply. “But since I don’t I’ll take my chances that your stubborn Gascon heritage will see you through. I’ll be damned if I let you slip away from the land of the living to that dark place you’ve escaped to inside your head!”

Looking away for only a moment, Athos swallowed hard. “Alain, Tristan and Gaston would not have wanted this for you,” he added harshly. “They’d want you to live for them... for all of us.”

Finally soft, brown, wounded eyes drifted slowly open to gaze into the solemn face of his friend. D’Artagnan’s tears flowed freely down his face as memories of the horror he had just witnessed came rushing back, flooding his mind with the blood and his own screams of that tragedy. “Ath... Athos,” he croaked and tugged on the hand in his own.

“D’Artagnan!” Athos bent forward instantly to hug the boy to him. Cupping the back of d'Artagnan's head he pulled him forward. “You’ve returned, pup!”

“I’ve been gone?”

Tapping the child’s temple lightly, Athos’s blue eyes began to water. “You were trapped for a time inside your mind.”

“The ambush took us all by surprise when it happened. The others were shot and wounded,” d’Artagnan stated flatly. “I couldn’t even lend aid because he roped me like a wild horse and pulled me to the ground.”

“We figured it out the best we could on our own,” Athos’s voice roughened. “We also know who paid the man.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cuffing d’Artagnan under the chin Athos’s wore a sad smile. “You did nothing wrong and certainly nothing to be sorry about.” He stood up and put on his hat. “I will tell Treville and the others you’re back amongst us once more.”

“Athos, we have to stop her,” d’Artagnan’s voice was a mere whisper but it was laced with pain.

“We’ll work on a plan together.”

++++

*Plan in motion*

“You’re a hard woman to find,” d’Artagnan spoke softly as he seated himself near Milady. She had hid herself away in the darkest corner of the tavern, but his sharp eyes spotted her immediately.

“I didn’t credit you with enough intelligence to locate me,” Milady eyed him warily.

“It took a lot of muscle and some coin but I managed,” he shrugged. Slapping his hand on the table, d’Artagnan glared at her. “I’m tired of having to look over my shoulder every single minute of every day worried that you’ll have hired someone to do me in.”

“So what do you propose?” Milady smirked, toying with the pistol she had aimed at him under the table.

“You get what you’ve wanted all along... me.”

“Just like that?” Milady tilted her head as she studied the handsome boy. 

“Apparently I’ve not been on the winning side,” d’Artagnan admitted ironically.

“Unfortunately for both of us I am no longer in the cardinal’s confidences,” she admitted sourly. “He is no longer my benefactor.”

“Er, yes, I’ve been told by the cardinal himself that he was aghast at what you had done to me the last time.”

“The man I hired was a fool,” Milady snapped. “It was supposed to be only a test, but his shot went wild and you lost your vision for a time.”

“Good help is so hard to find,” d’Artagnan made sure she heard the mockery in his tone. “I propose that the two of us work together from now on.” He placed his hand on top of hers. “Away from Paris where no one knows us.”

“Tempting offer,” Milady observed the youngster closely. “Only one thing wrong with your plan,” she stood up. “It’s too much of an about face.” Milady gazed into his earnest eyes and paused. “Still, let me think about it. I’ll be in touch.” She walked away, losing herself in the haze of thick smoke that filled the tavern.

++++

*Outside the tavern*

As Milady contemplated d’Artagnan’s suggestion she was grabbed from behind with a pistol to her head. “Time to pay for your crimes, Milady,” said a drunken voice.

Out of nowhere came Porthos and Aramis who tried to calm Athos down. Then d’Artagnan ran out of the tavern and joined them.

“You don’t want to do this,” Porthos warned his friend.

“She is a liar and a murderer,” Athos swayed slightly. “And she is the cardinal’s spy.” He paused for a second as Milady tried to struggle against his strength. “And she is my wife.”

“I didn’t realize you knew I was alive, Athos.”

“You should be careful of where you scatter your flowers, Anne.”

Spying d’Artagnan standing near his friends, Milady entreated him. “D’Artagnan! Help me! He’s gone mad!”

Both Aramis and Porthos were surprised as they turned to look at the youngster.

“You know her?” Porthos asked.

“Milady’s the one who has been trying to get me to work for the cardinal,” d’Artagnan acted like he hated to admit that to his large friend.

“And the one behind your own torment,” Aramis added.

“She must pay for her crimes against you, d’Artagnan, as well as the murders of three good Musketeers,” Athos growled.

“I can’t let you murder her in cold blood,” d’Artagnan warned his best friend.

“Then you must choose, d’Artagnan. If you help her you’re not fit to earn your commission as a Musketeer,” the drunken, enraged man spat.

“Put down that gun, Athos!” Treville ordered as he stepped into the scene.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, d’Artagnan lunged for Athos only to get shot for his efforts.

“You fool!” Athos shouted and backed away. It was a good thing Milady didn’t notice his loss of color as his concern grew at the amount of blood that covered the boy. His aim had been off, and now d’Artagnan was in the arms of his captain with Porthos trying to keep the child awake and grounded while Aramis looked like he was going to be sick over the whole thing.

++++

*Milady’s apartments*

“So much for *all for one and one for all*,” Milady scoffed as she paced the floor. “Your so-called friends left you to bleed to death in the square.”

“All the more reason to take me up on my offer.”

“On one condition and then my trust will be yours.”

“I just saved your life. What more do you want?”

“Kill Athos for me.”

“Tell me what happened between you two and perhaps I shall.” So for the next thirty minutes he learned her version of the story.

++++

*Captain Treville’s office*

Athos stared at the boy standing near Porthos. “So you are not dead.”

D’Artagnan’s face was wiped clean of emotion as he looked back at Athos. “And you are not drunk.”

Then all the men started laughing and embracing each other.

Pulling back, d’Artagnan winced. “Careful, I’m a wounded man.”

Stepping back, Athos frowned. “Sorry about that. Is it bad?”

“Bad enough. You were supposed to shoot me in the arm, Athos.”

“A shot to the side is so much more authentic.”

Clapping his hands, Aramis grinned. “You’re not telling us you aimed there deliberately?”

“Accuracy isn’t easy after three bottles of wine.”

“That part’s the truth,” Porthos snorted.

“D’Artagnan,” Treville wanted his son’s attention on him now. “Does she believe we’ve abandoned you?”

“Almost. There’s just one more thing I have to do to convince her and then maybe I’ll get her to confess to the murders of Alain, Gaston and Tristan.”

“What do you have to do?’ Athos queried.

“I just need to kill you.”

++++

After challenging Athos to a duel in the middle of the street, d’Artagnan marched away.

Trying to calm Athos down, Aramis reminded him that the duel had to be handled properly. Only to be pushed away as the Musketeer drew out his pistol aiming it at d’Artagnan’s back.

“Rules be damned!” Athos cried out and fired.

“D’Artagnan!” Porthos shouted out a warning and watched the boy duck.

Turning lightning swift, d’Artagnan’s aim was true as his own pistol found its mark. Athos dropped like a stone amidst screams and shouts from Aramis saying Athos was dead and that he, d’Artagnan was the murderer.

Hidden away so she could observe the death of her beloved husband, Milady smiled.

++++

*Milady’s apartments*

“Are you sorry you killed your best friend?” Milady seemed slightly sad at her husband’s demise now that the deed had been committed.

“Regrets are pointless,” d’Artagnan shrugged. “I can’t take the bullet back.”

“Let us leave Paris behind us then and start afresh as you suggested earlier,” she smiled coyly.

“As you wish, Milady.”

++++

*Past the city’s market place*

Milady and d’Artagnan were waiting for their coach when the boy had something to say to her.

“Amazing what a few coins can do to turn a man’s head,” d’Artagnan remarked in a slightly bored tone.

“What are you on about?” Milady asked in annoyance, wondering where their coach was.

“It was a neat trap that you laid for me which caused the death of three innocent Musketeers.”

“Ah! You know then,” Milady seemed almost relieved that d’Artagnan knew she had been behind that plot. “As you must have realized *you* were my main target.”

“I figured that one out for myself, but it was a sad business that cost Alain, Tristan and Gaston their lives.”

“If you hadn’t saved my life I’d have done it again," glancing at him Milady smirked. “Next time I would have done it myself,” she laughed. “Delven wasn’t quite the fool the other man was but he should have killed you all swiftly before being caught.”

Suddenly d’Artagnan grabbed her arm and pulled her away until they were secluded beneath an underpass. “Was that enough?”

“Who are you talking to?” she demanded.

“Whom do you think?”

“That voice!” Milady was stunned as she slowly turned, losing what color was left in her face to match the whiteness of the dress she wore.

“Seems we are both prone to resurrections,” Athos blue eyes flashed fire at her.

“Musketeers don’t die easily,” Aramis added as he, Porthos and Treville brought up the rear.

“You’ve admitted to your crimes, Milady,’ Captain Treville said severely. “The sentence is death.”

“You won’t do it,” Milady held firm in her belief.

“Kneel,” Athos ordered. “I created the creature you’ve become. Every vile deed and murder you have committed is on my head as well.” He drew out his blade. “This is for my peace of mind and my families.” Athos’s gaze encompassed the tiny group around him.

“May God have mercy on your soul,” Aramis made the sign of the cross.

“Treville!” Milady beseeched the captain. “You can not condone this!”

“You nearly killed d’Artagnan this last time,” Treville reminded her. “You cost me and the regiment three brothers because of your misguided vengeance against him,” his voice roughened. “You have brought this down on your own head.”

“Won’t anyone help me?” She turned to look at d’Artagnan.

“Athos?” D’Artagnan looked back at the man he loved as an older brother. He didn’t want to appear weak in front of him, but he had never witnessed a woman’s murder before. Even though it would be a justified killing.

“Aramis... Porthos...,” Athos’s gaze flicked toward the boy, “take d’Artagnan away from here now.”

“Non! I stay!” d’Artagnan scowled at all of them. “I will see this through!”

“We all stay,” Porthos agreed.

“Now, Madame, once more,” Athos said sharply, “kneel.”

With a toss of her hair, Milady knelt on the hard dirt ground, defiant to the very last. When she felt her chest pierced by the cold steel of Athos’s sword, Milady could have sworn she heard the devil’s voice welcoming her home.

TBC


	23. One Must Be Careful Where One Places Letters of Safe Conduct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you are a true Dumas fan and have read the original Three Musketeers you may recognize a little part of that story in here when d’Art faces the cardinal about the letter he gives him and his Eminence’s words of warning about him and Roche. So that part I have entwined in my story. Also the title of this chapter I believe may have been coined by Charleton Heston when he played the cardinal in the movie version of The Three Musketeers that starred Michael York... at least I think so.

In a graveyard just outside Paris a lone figure stood by a mound of dirt. The older man was as still as one of the statues scattered about the headstones that decorated the deserted area. He was joined by a much younger man who threw his arm around him and rested his head on the silent man’s shoulder.

“Are you sorry she’s gone, Athos?”

“Anne never would have changed, d’Artagnan,” Athos spoke quietly. “She would have kept on killing,” he glanced at the boy who had tears shimmering in his own brown eyes, but the tears were not for her... they were all for him. “I couldn’t take the chance that she’d take you away from us... away from me.”

Removing his head from Athos’s shoulder, d’Artagnan blinked a few times while processing his friend’s words. “Did you say something similar to me after my rescue on the way home to the garrison when I wasn’t all together there?”

Embarrassed now that the boy actually remembered what he had said, Athos ducked his head pulling his hat lower over his blushing face. Feeling a light touch to his chest he grabbed the youngster’s hand and pulled d’Artagnan into a rough hug. Cupping the back of the child’s head he held him close. “You’re alive and right now that’s all that matters in my world.”

Walking back to their horses, d’Artagnan cleared his throat feeling he better get this over with quickly. “I wanted to tell you myself that Cardinal Richelieu has requested an audience with me.”

Brows drawing together, frown gathering on his face, Athos was ready to pull out his sword in defense of his young companion.

Reading what was in his friend’s mind, d’Artagnan held up a hand. “Non! I don’t think he’s found out that Milady is dead and is asking for my head on a spike.” He tried to calm Athos down as he could tell the man did not take his news well.

“It wouldn’t be just your head the cardinal would want to roll,” Athos pointed out sharply with an arch of one eyebrow, wincing at his poor choice of words. He hoped his hastily spoken words would not remind d'Artagnan of that nightmare he barely escaped from.

“I have a feeling he’s found out that Captain Treville is my father.”

“Where do you think this will all lead?”

“I won’t know until I meet with him in about thirty minutes,” d’Artagnan started to tense up as he looked briefly away from Athos. “I wanted to see you first before I went.”

“May I come with you?”

“Non,” d’Artagnan shook his head. “The missive was specific. Just me.”

“I and the others will be waiting for you in the courtyard then,” Athos still worried that the boy would be all alone with his Eminence and no one there to back him up.

“Thank you.” D’Artagnan mounted his horse and he and Athos headed back to the garrison together.

++++

*Cardinal Richelieu’s rooms*

When d’Artagnan entered the cardinal’s office he saw the blond haired man standing silently, watching him from the corner. The scar across one cheek noticeable only when Rochefort smiled, which he did now.

“D’Artagnan,” Rochefort called out in greeting, acknowledging the boy with a formal bow of his head.

“Hello, Comte.” D’Artagnan looked around the room wondering where the cardinal was. “Did I get the time wrong?”

Stepping forward, Rochefort folded his arms as he studied the boy. “Non. I wanted to speak to you first in private.”

Worried more than ever now about what this could develop into, d’Artagnan waited to hear him out.

“The cardinal doesn’t know what really happened to Milady but I do.” Rochefort turned his back on the youngster as he walked back over to stand near a window. “I knew if she kept up with her vendettas it would catch up to her eventually.” Facing d’Artagnan again he observed the anxiousness that covered the boy’s face. “Nothing to say?”

Not wanting to fall into a trap by incriminating himself and the others, d’Artagnan played dumb. “As far as we know Milady left Paris in her hired coach.”

Chuckling, Rochefort gazed at d’Artagnan almost fondly. “All right. If you want to pretend that none of you had a hand in her demise that’s fine by me. I wanted *you* in particular to know that I could use someone with your talents by my side as another agent for the cardinal.” Rochefort nearly laughed out loud as the young man’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What? You don’t think we’d work well together as a team?”

“Is that why I’m here? To see you instead of Cardinal Richelieu.” Rambling thoughts assailed d’Artagnan’s stunned mind. Him and Rochefort together as a team. Wouldn’t Athos laugh himself silly… or perhaps not.

“Non. The cardinal will be here shortly,” Rochefort raised a hand to stay further inane questions from d’Artagnan’s mouth. “He knew that I wanted to offer you the position. I may not always be in his Eminence’s esteem, but I am his top lieutenant and always have my eye on a good thing,” Rochefort grinned slyly. “And you, my young, hotheaded Gascon, are one of the finest and brightest swordsmen I’ve seen in a long while.”

“Because I bested you that first time,” d’Artagnan scoffed. “That’s not much to go by.”

“I’ve kept my eye on you,” Rochefort chuckled. “So quit trying to be so modest, eh.”

“I am humbled by your offer but have to sadly decline.”

“Not surprising,” Rochefort commented in a bored tone. “But know the offer will always be on the table.”

“My thanks.” Just as d’Artagnan was going to add something else the cardinal swept into the room, his cape flowing majestically behind him.

“Rochefort,” Richelieu’s gaze flicked between the two men, “your business with the boy done?”

“Yes, your Eminence and I must now depart.” With a nod to both of them Rochefort strode away.

“I can already see the cogs and wheels spinning in your brain, d’Artagnan,” Richelieu laughed briefly. “Rochefort’s offer probably took you totally by surprise,” He then went to sit behind his desk. Tidying papers and such things until he focused on the youngster once more. “I already approved of having you join our ranks but told him I doubted very much if you would accept the proposition,” Richelieu eyed the boy coldly. “Was I correct?”

“Yes.” D’Artagnan observed the cardinal’s shrewd gaze lock on him.

“Since you have turned us down I have no choice in the matter,” the cardinal appeared sad for just a moment. “You are going to be thrown into the Bastille for the murder of Milady de Winter.” Seeing the look of astonishment on the boy’s face, Richelieu leaned back in his chair and chuckled softly. “What? You thought I wouldn’t find out?”

Collecting his wits, d’Artagnan managed to choke out, “Actually, Rochefort was the one who thought you did not know anything.”

“He may be my best agent, but Rochefort does not know everything,” the cardinal snorted. “I do tend to play my most important cards close to the chest.”

D’Artagnan was prepared for this day and couldn’t help but smirk as he reached into the pocket of his doublet and pulled out a slip of paper that he handed to the cardinal. “Well I *tend* to play a mean game of cards as well. Thanks to Porthos taking me in hand,” he stabbed the cardinal with a look that said he had the upper hand this time as he watched his Eminence unfold the paper to read it. “I think you’ll recognize that as a letter of safe conduct.”

As the cardinal read the paper out loud a deep scowl formed on his face as the words he spoke threatened to choke him. “It is by my order and for the good of the state that the bearer of this has done what has been done,” he coughed slightly. “And it’s signed by my hand.” Crumbling up the paper he tossed it in the trash. “One must be careful where one places letters of safe conduct,” he admitted wryly still gazing at the offending note lying innocently in the trash bin.

D’Artagnan swallowed hard knowing that piece of paper was his only salvation. Though it was Athos that finally killed Milady, it was he that she thought to use and hurt. He watched as the cardinal hastily wrote something down and handed it to him.

Reading it, d’Artagnan couldn’t believe what was in his hands. “This is a commission in the King’s Musketeers,” amazement filled his excited voice.

“Do close your mouth, d’Artagnan, you’ll catch flies with it at that rate,” Cardinal Richelieu sighed and rubbed at his forehead with a finger. “I had hoped to use your relationship with Treville in my favor, but after Milady’s plotting I felt that would have soured you toward me.”

“You know then that the captain is my father?”

“I had my suspicions from the beginning, and later Milady confirmed it.” The cardinal stood up and walked around his desk as he inspected the youngster from top to bottom. “You will be the youngest Musketeer in our corp. I will expect you to attend well.” 

Managing to remember his manners after the series of shocks he had received, d’Artagnan bowed before him. “I thank you, your Eminence.”

Shooing him away with a wave of his hand, the cardinal grimaced. “Yes, yes. Be on your way. I have more pressing matters to deal with and have wasted enough of my valuable time on you.” Watching the boy sweep out of the room he realized he forgot something. “Oh and d’Artagnan, you and Rochefort will get along and not fight in the streets like common rabble from now on.” He shooed him away again having said his piece.

As warnings went, d’Artagnan caught the underlying meaning. Best friends he could never be with an agent of the cardinals. But perhaps in time he and Rochefort would not need to treat each other as enemies.

++++

*Garrison courtyard*

Nudging Porthos, Aramis said, “Heads up. Here’s our boy.” Which caught Athos’s attention and had stopped the man from his infernal pacing. 

As soon as d’Artagnan stood in front of him, Athos clapped him on the shoulder. “Well?” he asked gruffly.

“First,” d’Artagnan glanced sideways at Porthos, “thanks to your nimble fingers the last time we were in the cardinal’s presence that letter of safe conduct saved my hide,” he grinned.

“Told ya that would come in handy one day,” Porthos voice boomed nearly across the whole courtyard.

“You’re still in one piece, son,” Treville was relieved. “I was deeply afraid for you.” He had joined his men once he saw d’Artagnan’s arrival.

After d’Artagnan filled them in on the unexpected offer from Rochefort which had the cardinal’s blessing, he whipped out the precious paper that held his future. Handing it to Athos first, d’Artagnan waited for his friend to finish reading it and watched as it was passed around until his father held it in his hands last. “Gentlemen, you see standing here before you this day one newly commissioned Musketeer!”

Congratulations were loudly voiced by all, followed by back slapping, hugs and later... lots and lots of wine.

TBC


	24. At the End of It All... What Do We Have?  (The Finale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tying up all the ends and hopefully a nice finale til next time.  
> You will definitely recognize some dialog from the show but I've changed it around to fit my storyline (grins).  
> See my note at the end.

*The Bonacieux House*

They celebrated d’Artagnan’s commission late into the evening. The boy didn’t arrive back at his lodgings until well after midnight. Even though he tried to be quiet as a church mouse, the amount of wine he had consumed effected his equilibrium so that his balance was slightly off. Stumbling over something on the floor in the darkened hallway, he nearly fell flat on his face but was saved from that embarrassment by a firm grip on his arm.

“Do you know what time it is?” Constance glared at the young man. He had been making enough noise to wake the dead.

“Really late I expect.” D’Artagnan squinted at her. Constance’s small figure was only a blur to him right now as he swayed slightly.

“Well what were you doing?” Constance figured that she could guess. “Something stupid again?”

Laughing and trying to stay upright all at the same time proved a challenge for d’Artagnan in his state. Smiling down into her concerned face he hiccuped. “Celebrating.”

“Oh, is it your birthday?”

“The cardinal gave me my commission in the Musketeers.”

“Why that’s wonderful news!” she squeezed his arm and hugged him enthusiastically. “But you’re not going to be in any fit shape for duty tomorrow.”

“The captain said I won’t officially be on the roster until the day after.”

“Get yourself in your room right now,” Constance urged. “I don’t feel you’re about to last much longer.”

“I was trying to be quiet,” d’Artagnan whispered. “I did not want to wake you or your husband.”

“Jauque’s away on another buying trip,” she waved her hand, pointing toward d’Artagnan’s room.

“At least I won’t disturb his sleep this night,” d’Artagnan slurred and smiled sleepily at her pretty features, wishing for the umpteenth time that she wasn’t married. But he was raised not to covet another man’s wife so d’Artagnan respected her married state. Gaining entrance to his room, he barely removed his doublet in time before he collapsed on his bed and passed out cold.

++++

*Next morning*

When d’Artagnan finally roused himself he had a horrible headache but still managed to make himself presentable for breakfast. Stepping out of his room the aroma of freshly cooked bacon wafted through the air. Poking his head in the kitchen d’Artagnan was startled to see all three of his friends enjoying the good food around the table. He could see Constance busy cooking away at the stove so he settled himself down beside Athos.

“How’s the head?’ Porthos picked up a piece of bacon, chewing on it with relish.

“What head?” D’Artagnan’s remark set off a round of laughter that even Constance joined in on.

“Constance,” Aramis licked his lips, “that breakfast beats anything they serve over at the inn.”

“Thank you, Monsieur.”

Athos, Porthos and d’Artagnan all agreed with his sentiments..

“D’Artagnan,” Athos tapped the table to get the boy’s attention. “Now that you’re officially one of us you do realize that you’ve become our apprentice Musketeer?”

Wiping his mouth, d’Artagnan grinned. “I expected nothing less.”

“Yeah, the stables need mucking out and our horses groomed.” Porthos exchanged amused looks with the other two men.

“*All* our horses?” D’Artagnan looked suspiciously at them all, thinking perhaps they were just jesting.

“Don’t be stupid,” Constance remarked. “They’re just having some fun with you.”

“Not the mucking part,” Porthos turned a serious face toward the young man.

“How long will this apprentice Musketeer business last?” d’Artagnan asked woefully.

“Until it’s not fun anymore,” Aramis commented airily.

“Even though d’Artagnan has the day off... we do not,” Athos stated dryly. Standing up to leave he bowed before Constance. ‘Madame, my thanks for a most delicious breakfast.”

“You’re very welcome, Athos.”

“How come I’m *Monsieur* and he’s *Athos*?” a disgruntled Aramis asked earning a snort from Porthos.

Saving Constance from answering, d’Artagnan spoke up. “I’d like to go with you. It may clear my head.”

“Let’s go then.” Athos lead the way out.

++++

*Garrison courtyard*

“D’Artagnan, what have I discussed with you about head over heart when fighting? Whether with swords, pistols or hand to hand,” Athos appeared a trifle frustrated at the boy’s inattentiveness. He supposed the child was still hung over from last night and should go easier on him, but d’Artagnan was now a Musketeer and should act the part.

Ignoring his mentor’s words, D’Artagnan made a wild lunge at Athos which the older man countered quite easily turning the tables on him. He ended up on the ground with a sword tapping at his chest just over his heart.

“You are now dead,’ Athos announced flatly. “What did I tell you about thinking before you act?”

“I couldn’t help it. I’m not like you!” d’Artagnan nearly shouted in anger and embarrassment. “We Gascons are an emotional lot.”

“You are like me... more than you know.” Athos glared at him as he helped the boy regain his feet. 

“Your emotions will get you nothin’ but dead if they’re not controlled,” Porthos pointed out, this time the man wasn’t laughing.

“All right,” Athos snapped. “We begin again.”

It was an extremely long, painful day for the fledgling Musketeer.

++++

*Another day... another mission*

What should have proved a cake walk was anything but. Guarding the queen while she partook of the waters turned out to be a nearly deadly affair for her majesty. Having survived the shoot out at the convent, the Musketeers were able to safely deliver Queen Anne back to the palace. They were all quite relieved for it had been a damnable mission from start to end.

For Aramis especially it had been the hardest. Filled with revelations, losses and fatal attractions which seemed to dog his steps lately. Realizing he had deep feelings for the queen could end not only his commission but his very life. He shook off his melancholy feelings and tried to focus on the attention that d’Artagnan was currently basking in or should he say hiding from.

It seemed that Captain Treville finally admitted to the king that d’Artagnan was his son. Now King Louis seemed determined to have their youngest by his side almost constantly. They were nearly the same age, with the king being only a few years older than d’Artagnan. So whenever he wasn’t traveling on missions or training with his brothers, d’Artagnan could be found in the king and queen’s company.

Good natured teasing abounded the youngest Musketeer. His three friends never ceased remarking on the ways King Louie kept asking d’Artagnan’s advice instead of the cardinal’s.

Enjoying an off night in the local tavern that was currently the topic of discussion again.

“Have the king and queen formally adopted you yet?” Aramis quipped.

“Oh do hush!” d’Artagnan snapped and then turned beet red.

“It holds for a promising future to be held in such high esteem,” Athos grinned into his drink.

“Then if d’Artagnan is in such *high esteem*,” Porthos grunted, “where’s the money?”

“Oh God!” d’Artagnan snorted and started laughing all at the same time. “Is that all you think about?”

“Puts food in my belly,” Porthos shrugged, “so yeah.”

“The man’s unbelievable!” Aramus muttered under his breath and took a sip of his wine.

“Do not tell me that you are only finding that out now?” Athos’s brow rose.

“You’d think saving her majesty there’d be some glory in it for us,” Porthos downed his glass of wine and quickly refilled it again.

“Oh here we go,” d’Artagnan rolled his eyes making Athos snicker. So he got up and walked over to talk with Rene who was seated at another table.

“I’ll tell you a sadder tale, Porthos,” Aramis glanced at the boy and lowered his voice. “D’Artagnan is half way in love with Constance.”

“But she’s married?” Porthos started on his third glass of wine..

“Exactly,” Aramis replied smugly. “Where it wouldn’t bother me, d’Artagnan’s cut from another cloth,” he toyed with the drink he held in his hands. “Our youngster’s too much of a gentleman to do anything about it.”

Sighing, Porthos shook his head. “You’ve made your point.” Seeing d’Artagnan heading back to their side he signaled the child to sit beside him. “Feel like taking a trip to the Court of Miracles with me? Maybe you’ll pick up a thing or too.”

“I’d like that,” d’Artagnan said with real interest.

“Porthos,” Athos’s blue eyes flashed. “D’Artagnan will pick up all manner of bad habits.”

“That’s the idea,” Porthos slapped the youngster on the back as they all laughed.

“So at the end of it all what do we have?” Aramis gazed at his friends. “No glory.”

“No money,” Porthos offered.

“No love,” d’Artagnan added glumly.

“None of the things that make life bearable,” Aramis sighed as all of them stood up to leave and make their way outside to their horses.

After they were mounted, Athos looked at each of them in turn and reminded them of something that went along with being a Musketeer. “We have honor.”

Thinking on it for a few seconds, Aramis nodded his head. “I can live with that.”

Smiling d’Artagnan’s eyes twinkled. “For honor then.”

As they headed out of the garrison, Porthos frowned. “Still, a little money would be nice.”

All four men grinned at each other and kicked their horses into full gallops. D’Artagnan, of course, raced away in the lead laughing as he glanced back at Athos who was catching up to him.

At the end of it all... three became four brothers of the heart.

*All for one and one for all!*

The End

++++

Note: I hope everyone has enjoyed this wild ride with me. I never intended for this story to become such a monster. But with the tremendous response and every ones kudos along with encouraging words from some I felt I should continue my storyline.  
I think after this I will try to do just stand alones. I say that now, but who knows what will happen. Especially when season 2 comes rolling along next year (grins).


End file.
